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SONS OF THE SEA 


By the Same Author 


IN THE DAYS OF NELSON 

With 4 Colour and 4 Black- 

5/- 

and-white Illustrations 

FIRST AT THE POLE 


With Colour Frontispiece 

cl 

and 3 Illustrations 

O; 

CASSELL & CO., LTD., London. 

E.C. 




Sydney dashed down through roaring space like a stone ” 

(see -page 65). 



Sons of the Sea 

A STORY FOR BOYS 


BY 

CAPTAIN FRANK H. SHAW 

Author of ' In the Days of Nelson," " The Champion of the School,” 
"First at the Pole,” etc. 


WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE COLOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

E. S. HODGSON 



CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD 
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne 



/w 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


ViiaJiii. > 


TO 

MY FATHER 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTtR PAGE 

1. A Rescue 

2. Glorious News 17 

3. The “ Cape Horn ” — and some of her Crew . 29 

4. Outward Bound 43 

5. The First Gale and a Treacherous Deed . 55 

6. Baulked 66 

7. A Fire at Sea 81 

8. Two Narrow Squeaks 99 

9. Crossing the Line . . . . . . 115 

10. Running the Easting Down .... 124 

11. Ill-Luck 147 

12. An Alarm 163 

13. Pirates . 174 

14. Hong Kong 193 

15. Sammy Longstaffe : Accuser .... 209 

16. Forbes Leaves His Prison .... 219 

1 7. A Derelict 232 

18. On Board the Derelict 244 

19. Adrift 254 

20. The Great Loneliness 262 

21. Land Ho! 272 

22. A Strange Encounter 284 

23. The Castaway’s Story . . . 292 

24. A Short One and the Last . . . .308 


LIST OF COLOURED PLATES 


“Sydney dashed down through roaring space like 

a stone ” Frontispiece 

Facing page 

“It was a race between man and fish; which 

WOULD WIN?” 1 12 

“ ‘ At them, we’re moving ! ’ boomed the Captain, 

AND SYD FLEW TO HIS SIDE ” 1 84 

“SYD STOOD AGAINST THE MAST, AND PEERED STEADILY 

BENEATH HIS HAND” . « . . . .276 


SONS OF THE SEA 


CHAPTER I 

A Rescue 

“If he doesn’t look out he’ll get wet,” thought Sydney 
Brunton. It was on the tip of his tongue to shout a 
warning, but he forbore, because he was not over-keen 
on interfering with other people’s business. 

It was a blustering day in spring, and winter was 
even yet hardly past. The snows on the distant hills 
were not altogether melted, and the river beside which 
Sydney was seated, idly heaving pebbles into the 
turgid water, was swollen monstrously. The heavy 
rain that had fallen constantly for two days had ceased 
at last, and there was a rift of blue in the sky, although 
the deep-drooping, leaden clouds gave promise of much 
more moisture. 

Sydney looked again at the sight which had aroused 
his interest. On the other side of the river, which here 
was perhaps fifty yards wide, was a venerable old tree, 
gnarled and twisted, truly an ancestor amongst trees. 
One long branch overhung the water to a consider- 
able extent, and, stretched along this branch, his body 
flattened to its contours, worming his way out inch 
by inch, was a lad of about Sydney’s age, a lad 
whom Sydney did not know. 

B 


2 


Sons of the Sea 

Standing beneath the bole of the tree, and gazing 
upwards with an expression of boyish admiration at 
such a feat of daring, was still another lad, younger 
than either of the others — a village boy whom Sydney 
knew as an inveterate mischief-maker. If there were 
fences to be broken or trees to be hacked down for 
the purpose of providing fuel for a Fifth of November 
bonfire, Harry Longton was sure to be in the forefront 
of the trouble. He had been caned by his schoolmaster, 
birched by order of the local justices of the peace, 
bullied and ill-treated by his father — who was addicted 
rather too frequently to visiting the village ale-house 
— and soundly trounced on more than one occasion by 
Sydney himself, who was naturally a lover of peace, 
but who could not be tampered with beyond a certain 
point. 

“Wherever Harry Longton is there’s sure to be 
trouble,” said Sydney, scooping up a handful of peb- 
bles, and shying one with fair aim at a huge water 
rat which sat trimming its whiskers on a piece of 
flotsam that the river had brought down. “And yet 
he’s all right. I believe that if I were in a row or 
in real trouble, I’d like him behind me. . . . Hallo, 

Roy ! ” 

There had been a smashing of wood close at hand, 
and, as he turned, his bosom friend, Roy Halliday, 
burst into view through the hedge. And Roy’s face 
was all aglow, it radiated good humour; his eyes shone, 
and his general aspect showed all beholders that he 
was bursting with news. 

“It’s settled,” he panted, flinging himself down on 
the wet turf, totally regardless of the fact that it was 
saturated and sodden. “I’m going to sea — going in 
another month. The mater held out, but the pater 


3 


A Rescue 

said that it wasn’t any use. 4 He’ll have to go 
to get the nonsense knocked out of him,’ he told 
her. 4 He’ll never settle down until he’s tried it for 
himself.’ Good for the pater, eh? Sensible old boy, 
my pater, Syd. Now, if your guardian was half 
as sensible, you and I’d be setting off to sea together. 
Oh, it’s hefty; it’s wonderfully hefty!” He turned 
over on his face and tore out clods of earth with 
strong, eager fingers. 

“To sea — to sea — to the bounding, beamish sea! ” 
he carolled. “Think of it — sharks, pirates, treasure 
islands, cannibals, wrecks and mutinies — and it’s all 
for me, for little me. And you — you’re going to stick 
at home and be a swat. You’re going to be brought 
up as a giddy lawyer, ain’t you? Think of me, when 
you’re wearing out your trousers on an office stool, 
up aloft, shortening sail, and ” 

Sydney swallowed hard, and tried to hide the fact 
that his eyes were wet by gazing fixedly at the 
sprawling lad on the branch opposite. It is distinctly 
unmanly to cry when you are fifteen and a half, even 
though you must sit by and hear another boy revel 
in the glories that are denied to yourself. 

“Sea’s a rotten life, anyhow,” he said miserably. 
“Poor grub, hard work, bullying skippers. You read 
any book you like — ‘ Two Years Before the Mast,’ or 
any of them. You’ll be sorry you went before you’re 
half-way down Channel, and you’ll be ready to swim 
ashore by the time you’re in the Bay.” 

“Fox and grapes ! v jeered Roy, flinging chunks of 
sodden earth at his chum. “You know you’d give 
your back teeth to be going with me. And there 
won’t be any rotten grub; there won’t be any bullying 
skippers; there won’t be anything but beamish beauti- 


4 


Sons of the Sea 

fulness. Because I’m going in the Cape Horn, and 
she’s a cadet ship — a whole blessed public school at 
sea. Twenty cadets if there’s one. Put that in your 
pipe and smoke it, sweet Syd.” 

“You’re rather a rotter, Roy,” said Sydney, with 
dangerous quietness. 

“I say, I’m sorry. I’m beastly sorry.” A strong 
young arm was flung around Syd’s shoulders. “Does 
it hurt ever so much? Look here, I’ll tell you what. 
I won’t go; I’ll tell my pater that I’m quite prepared 
to settle down and swat for my matric., and go on to 
be a sawbones like him.” 

“You won’t do anything of the sort. I’m not a 
baby.” Syd blinked back the tears and swallowed 
convulsively again. “I’m not going to spoil your 
chances by blubbing. But I wish — I wish I was going 
too.” 

“Well, what’s to stop? You go to that crusty 
old fogey of a guardian of yours, and have it out with 
him, as between man and man. Tell him you want 
to be a sailor, that you’re going to be a sailor, that 
you’ll never rest until you are a sailor. That’s what 
I did, and they couldn’t stand it any longer. They’re 
sending me to sea to get rid of me.” 

Syd shook his head. 

“It’s no use; I’ve tried all that,” he said. “They 
won’t let me go — neither Mr. Carey nor Mrs. Carey. 
I don’t know why. It can’t be the expense, because 
I know the pater left lots of cash wdien he died. And 
it isn’t because they’re so fond of me that they can’t 
bear me out of their sight. I’ve seen old Mother Carey 
look at me as if she thought poison was too good for 
me. And yet they won’t let me go.” 

Roy spared a moment for sympathy, but he him- 


A Rescue 5 

self was going to sea, and it is the nature of the genus 
Boy to be selfish. He was itching to disclose a fresh 
possession, and now it came out. 

“Look here — what d’you think of this?” 

It was a cheap Belgian revolver, costing, perhaps, 
ten shillings and sixpence when new, but now it wasn’t 
new. But it bore a flashy, treacled-up appearance, 
which fully satisfied its possessor. 

“Five bob, at Hedley’s,” he said proudly. “I never 
said a word until I had the cash and two bob for 
cartridges. Hedley wanted a licence, but I told him 
I hadn’t one, and he said I wasn’t to let on he’d sold 
it to me. It’s between us two now.” 

Now, Hedley’s was the pawnbroker’s in Merton 
Royal, the nearest town to Summerford, where Roy 
and Sydney lived. Many a time had Syd tramped 
the five miles that lay between the village and the 
town, and spent an hour in gazing at the assortment 
of ancient firearms in the fascinating window, wonder- 
ing whether he would ever dare, even supposing he 
possessed the necessary cash, to enter beneath the sign 
of the golden balls and demand such a revolver as 
this for his own. 

He gulped; it seemed as though Roy were getting 
all the sweets of life, whilst he received only the 
bitterness. 

“Look here, don’t worry. I’ll give you first shot; 
you can load it, too.” 

That was consolatory, and Syd opened the packet 
of central-fire cartridges. 

“Wait till we get amongst the cannibals, that’s 
all,” said Roy bloodthirstily. “Or until the crew mutiny 
— they always mutiny. I’ll show them a thing or 
two.” 


6 


Sons of the Sea 

He checked, and a momentary silence fell. From 
across the river came a loud challenge : 

“You dursn’t go right to the end, Sam. Call 
yourself a sailor, but you dursn’t.” 

“That’s all you know. I’ll show you what we do 
at sea, my lad.” 

Harry Longton repeated his dare, and the lad on 
the branch sprawled out another foot. 

Sydney, too occupied with the delicate work of 
loading the revolver, took no heed; and Roy had 
caught sight of a huge water-rat floating downstream 
on a chunk of wood. 

“Hist! Aim low and in front. You can’t miss 
him then,” he said in a hoarse whisper. 

Now, whether it was the startling effect of the 
pistol-shot, or whether it was merely due to the fact 
that the tree-branch was rotten, the catastrophe occurred 
almost at the precise moment of firing. The bullet 
cut across the surface of the water, and the rat dived 
nimbly from its perch unharmed; but neither lad had 
time to notice the poorness of Syd’s aim, for with a 
monstrous crack the branch broke, and before any of 
the three spectators could realise what was happening 
the climber was in the river. 

“ Good ! ” began Roy, and sprang to his feet, 

with some inchoate idea of doing something. He could 
not swim a stroke, and the river was deep enough 
here to drown a dozen men. It was swollen tremen- 
dously; there were many floating bodies that might 
quite easily dash a swimmer to unconsciousness. 

“And there’s the weir,” said Syd, also on his feet, 
with the revolver, which had kicked abominably, in 
his hand still. “Did I hit him?” 

“No; I saw the bullet go — miles wide.” 


A Rescue 7 

“He can’t swim a stroke, he told me ! ” came from 
across the river in a wild yell ; and Harry Longton 
danced a futile war-dance on the farther bank. 

The lads looked at the river, and saw a head emerge 
from a curl of froth. A hand was flung up despair- 
ingly ; a piteous, startled face, with wide-open eyes 
and mouth, showed. Syd never knew what impulse 
moved him ; he did not know that this incident, trifling 
as it might appear, was to affect all his future life. 
He could swim well himself. As he was wont to say, 
it was about the only thing he could do decently. He 
remembered the roaring weir a quarter of a mile below, 
with the eddying whirlpool at its foot, where more 
than one strong man had been drowned. He remem- 
bered the finding of such a man’s body, battered almost 
beyond recognition, and he remembered it all in a 
flash. Without a word he set off running like a stag 
along the bank, unbuttoning his coat as he went. 

Roy followed him, raving wildly at his own help- 
lessness. He, an embryo sailor, could not swim; he 
had been a fool to neglect the practice of the art; he 
would make amends; he would learn to swim before 
he set foot on a ship’s planking. But meanwhile the 
climber was drowning, and there was the weir to make 
all matters secure. 

Meanwhile Syd, fleet of foot, had left his chum in 
the rear, and was now drawing abreast of the drowning 
lad. He saw a head reappear, and through his mind 
flashed a remembrance that a drowning person rose three 
times before the water closed finally over his head. 
But if he dived in immediately he stood a chance of 
missing his mark; the lad would be swept out of his 
reach . 

He put on an extra spurt and drew farther ahead; 


8 


Sons of the Sea 

then, still running, he swerved closer to the bank, 
joined his hands above his head, and dived out towards 
mid-stream with all his strength. 

The water was icy cold, heart chilling, but his head 
had emerged before he realised it. He swam strongly 
— it was his one real accomplishment — and tore through 
the water like a frenzied tug, and the thunder of the 
weir sounded ominously in his ears. 

It was a race of human strength and the 
whirling horror of the swollen river. Syd put all he 
knew into the struggle, breasting the foaming torrent 
magnificently, whilst allowing himself to be borne 
towards the weir until he deemed the time was ripe 
for his most strenuous effort. He leaped up in the 
water then, and saw, almost within reach, the head 
and arm of the one he had gone to save. Collecting 
his reserves of strength, wishing — and he did not 
know he wished it — that the water were not so cold, 
he made a grab and missed, his fingers sliding use- 
lessly from lank and dripping hair. The other lad 
disappeared, and Syd realised that a moment’s loss 
of pluck meant his death. He forced himself forward 
again, the water creaming away from his progress, 
and thought to see an agitation of the flood. He 
grabbed afresh, and this time successfully; his fingers 
closed like a vice on a wrist; he hauled on it, and a 
head shot above the surface. 

But the worst was not yet over; the resistless stream 
had carried him down so swiftly that another minute 
meant that both rescuer and rescued would be over 
the weir. That was certain death ; the stoutest swimmer 
could not live a minute in the swirl. Syd jerked his 
salvage over on his back, and the climber made no 
attempt to assist himself ; he lay like a log. Then 


A Rescue 9 

the lad swam towards the farther bank, which was 
easier of attainment. But the force of the stream crip- 
pled him ; he felt his strength ebbing from him in 
great waves. There was a strong temptation growing 
upon him to relinquish his hold of the climber, to 
strike out for safety himself ; at a pinch he could just 
do it. But half-unconscious of it all, growing steadily 
colder and colder, he held on grimly. 

He snatched with his free hand at floating pieces 
of wood; they eluded his grasp and bobbed away 
merrily, as though making sport of his terrible plight. 
And the roar of the weir was stunning; it seemed to 
paralyse him, to check the strokes of arm and legs. 

In another few seconds he would have been flung 
like a cork over the pouring cascade, but some subtle 
undercurrent of the stream — created Heaven knows 
how, perhaps some boulder in the river bed accounted 
for it — swept him somewhat to one side. He was 
aware of a heavy shock, of a pain that shot through 
his shoulder and forced a cry from his lips; and then 
his left hand was clutching at an iron bar; the awful 
strain was easing; the crash of falling water was very 
near, but safety seemed at hand. 

And it was thanks to the man who constructed the 
weir that Sydney Brunton’s career did not terminate 
before it had well begun. On the village side of the 
river — that side on which Syd had been — the weir ran 
right to the bank, and there was no kind of safety 
at all ; but on the farther side a stone wall had been 
built to prevent the flooded stream eating away the 
bank. It was against the mid-stream end of this wall 
that the lad had crashed, and on this end was a single 
rusted iron bar, part of an ancient grid that had once 
been across the top of the cascade. 


10 


Sons of the Sea 

Syd hung there, recovering his breath, and doing 
his utmost to hold his unconscious salvage above 
water. To him, hanging there, came Harry Longton, 
who gasped and gulped hysterically. He knelt on the 
wall, and wondered audibly what was to be done next, 
offering no solution of the difficulty; until, from the 
other side of the river, unable to help materially, Roy 
Halliday shouted terse instructions. 

“Hang on to him,” he cried. “Catch him; he’ll 
let go. I’m off for help.” 

Harry Longton did as he was bidden. That is to 
say, he lay at full length on the top of the wall, which 
rose now a bare two feet from the water, though 
ordinarily it was a clear ten feet above the surface, 
and caught the collar of Syd’s shirt. He tried to do 
more, but his strength was not equal to hauling the 
double burden entirely clear of the river, and after a 
few attempts he desisted, wondering how long Roy 
would be. 

Matters were complicated by the lad Syd had saved 
returning to consciousness and struggling. For a 
minute it seemed as though the worst was still to 
come. 

“Stop it, Sam, you fool!” roared Harry. “Stop 
kicking like that, or you’ll get your head bashed ! ” 
Sam fought a little more, but his struggles grew weaker ; 
the effort was only a flash in the pan; and then, just 
when it seemed to Syd that he must let go either the bar 
or Sam, there came a hearty hail from Roy, the sound 
of hastening footsteps, and two men hove in sight. 
Roy had fled like a hare down-stream to the mill, and 
had been fortunate enough to find the millmaster and 
one of his men at hand. To inform them of what was 
afoot was the work of a moment ; in another, armed with 


A Rescue n 

a stout rope and a plank, the men had set off, Roy 
leading. 

The ultimate work of rescue was not easy. The 
stone wall was slippery and covered with wet grass, 
a false step meant an immediate precipitation into the 
weir; but the men worked deftly. Held firmly by the 
legs, the millmaster reached out and slipped the loop 
at the end of the rope over the head of Sam, and then, 
up to his shoulders in water, beneath his armpits. By 
dint of a combined pull the almost drowned youth was 
dragged up to safety; and the other man, leaning over, 
hove Syd half-way up the wall with one drag. After 
that the work was as good as done; and in a short while 
several dripping figures ornamented the river bank, 
whilst the millmaster gasped out threats, praises and 
pious wishes that he might be blowed, all in a breath. 

“Carry that younker down to the mill,” he com- 
manded. “He’s froze stiff, an* he needs to thaw out. 
As for you, Muster Sydney, you’d best be off home as 
fast as your legs’ll carry ye.” 

After the rapid rush of events, now that the first mad 
excitement had died down, weakness settled on the 
plucky lad. He was seated on the grass, with water 
streaming from every angle of his body ; but he turned 
a piteous face to Roy, who hovered round him like a 
hen around her only chick, and said : 

“They’ll be as mad as hatters; that’s another suit 
spoilt.” He referred to his estimable guardians, Mr. 
and Mrs. Carey. He had been soundly trounced by his 
^ huge male custodian only a week before in that he had 
ripped the trousers of his best suit to ribbons, climbing 
a lofty tree. And now, he knew they would take no 
thought to the circumstances of the case; they would 
look only at the result. 


12 


Sons of the Sea 

“Off ye go, Muster Syd; finest thing I’ve ever 
heerd on. Ye’ll get your death sittin’ theer. Run him 
home, Muster Roy — so’s he can move; keep him 
movin’.” 

But Syd was feeling drowsy and weak; he wondered 
why the world was spinning wildly round him; why the 
trees on the bank were dancing a mad gavotte, bowing 
ludicrously the one to the other. Then, for the first 
time in his life, he fainted, and no wonder. 

“Ay, he’ve overtaxed his strength,” said the mill- 
master, Hobbs by name. “Well-a-day, he’ll have to 
go to the mill arter all.” And without further ado he 
picked him up as if he had been a sack of grain, and 
carried him to the venerable building where he gained 
his livelihood. 

Roy and Harry brought up the rear, and the mis- 
chievous youngster was loud in his praises. 

“Wasn’t it grand?” he cried. “Sam can’t swim; 
calls himself a sailor, too. Can’t swim for nuts; he’d 
have been drownded if Syd hadn’t done it. My eye ! 
but I thought they were both done for.” 

“A sailor, and can’t swim! ” cried Roy, forgetting 
that unless he accomplished the mastery of the natatory 
art within another month he would be in the same 
boat. 

“Yes, he’s a sailor — aboard the Cape Horn . He’s 
made one voyage; got an uncle in the village — come for 
a spell ashore.” 

“Why, that’s the ship I’m going on,” said Roy. 

Harry expressed his wondering awe, and silence fell 
between them. When they reached the mill they found 
preparations already in progress. Mrs. Hobbs had 
been fetched from the millhouse, and was warming 
blankets before a roaring furnace; her son was already 


A Rescue 13 

stripping the sodden clothing from Sam, who had been 
laid down on a heap of sacks where the full heat of the 
fire would strike him. The young sailor was very pale, 
his hair hung in matted confusion over his freckled 
forehead ; but the man who had carried him to the mill, 
the leading light of the local ambulance class, expressed 
his opinion that it w r as more cold than drowning that 
he was suffering from. 

“You go fetch your pa, Muster Roy,” said Mrs. 
Hobbs, as an afterthought. “Like as not they’ll both 
be down with peumoney if it ain’t cotched in time.” 

Obediently Roy sped away, and, finding his father 
at home, lost no time in communicating to him the 
great thing Sydney had done. Dr. Halliday sprang 
into his runabout car, and was at the mill in a jiffy. 
He made a swift examination of the tw'o lads. 

“They’ll pull through; they’re tough,” he said. 
“Give a hand here, though.” He dropped on his knees 
beside Sam and began to w r ork away with his arms. The 
sailor gave a gasp, took in a breath, opened his eyes and 
looked wildly about him. His glance fell on Syd’s face 
close at hand, and rested there. 

“What’s he done?” he asked, half-vacantly. 

“Saved your life and nearly lost his own,” remarked 
Dr. Halliday, still working away. 

“Blow me, but I’d like to show him I’m grateful,” 
murmured Sammy Longstaffe, ordinary seaman, and 
closed his eyes again. 

At about the same time as Sydney Brunton slung 
himself into the river, his worthy guardians were hold- 
ing an important conference. Mr. Carey’s mean, nar- 
row face was expressive of considerable discomposure; 
his mouth w^as pursed uglily. 

“Well, and what’s it all about?” demanded his 


14 Sons of the Sea 

spouse, who was in feature almost a counterpart of her 
husband. 

“Oh, it’s the usual thing,” said Mr. Carey. “In- 
vestments gone to the deuce again, tried to cover my 
losses and lost more. I’m dipped deep, Maria; I’m 
dipped very deep.” 

Mrs. Carey looked towards the door, but it was 
already closed. 

“I don’t hold with this gambling,” she said, 
in a sibilant whisper. “But if it’s necessary, can’t 
you ” 

“I’ve done it already, more than once. Tell you 
the truth, Maria, I’ve about cleaned out that young 
cub’s property; there’s not more than a couple of hun- 
dred pounds left. And if he begins to get suspicious, 
he might — he might write to Seaborne and Gibbs, and 
then we may as well cut our throats and finish it once 
for all.” 

Mrs. Carey’s face went white, but her eyes glittered. 
She leaned forward in her chair, and tapped her hus- 
band’s arm with a knitting needle. 

“Don’t let him write, then,” she said. “Stop him.” 

“Ah, and how do you think I’m going to do that? 
He’s nearly sixteen already, and he’ll begin to wonder 
why he’s kept so tight for money soon. And when a 
lad begins to wonder he grow r s suspicious, and then — 
well, it’s jail for me, Maria, and the workhouse for you, 
that’s all.” 

“Nothing of the sort. If you play your cards 
properly, there’s no need to be afraid.” 

“Isn’t there? He was told — it’s in the will — that 
if he wants to go to college, to college he must go. And 
then, he’s for the Bar, and that isn’t done for nothing.. 
He’ll find out all about it; he must.” 


A Rescue 15 

“Yes, if he stays here he must. But he needn’t stay 
here.” 

“I don’t quite get at your meaning, Maria.” 

“It is simple enough, Jabez. The lad’s mad to go 
to sea; let him go. You say there’s close on two hun- 
dred pounds left; use that to start him off, or as much 
as is necessary. And, look here, I’ve been thinking 
this out for a long while. Send him in a good ship.” 

Mr. Carey made a desperate gesture with his hands. 
“That costs money,” he said. “A hundred pounds a 
voyage at least; Halliday told me that. And he’ll have 
to do four years of that kind of thing; we can’t pay it.” 

“Send him in a good ship,” persisted Mrs. Carey 
coldly. “If you sent him in a poor one, folks might 
think it was done on purpose. And there’s no reason 
why he should make more than one voyage, Jabez, no 
reason at all.” Their eyes met, but were immediately 
averted again. Mr. Carey dared not speak the thought 
that was in his mind, but his wife was not so squeamish. 

“He needn’t ever come back,” she said softly. “It 
could be done if you went the right way about it. A fall 
from the rigging, or — no, he can swim, so it wouldn’t 
do to have him thrown overboard. If you play your 
cards properly, there needn’t be a breath of suspicion. 
And no one would ever ask about that money then ; it’s 
left to him absolutely, and you’re trustee.” 

“Don’t put such thoughts into my head,” said Mr. 
Carey, but not very angrily. “It would be murder to 
have the lad put out of the road.” 

“Nothing of the sort; and accidents happen every 
day at sea,” said his estimable wife. “You think it over, 
Jabez, and you’ll see I’m in the right. Think about 
prison and the workhouse, and you’ll see things in the 
same light that I do.” 


i6 


Sons of the Sea 

Mr. Carey walked to the window and looked out. 
He walked back to the fireside, and with his hands be- 
neath his coat tails, stood back to the fire. He coughed, 
he winked his eyes rapidly, he tapped with his foot on 
the floor. 

“Do you know, Maria,” he said, “I think it is a very 
good idea. And if Sydney Brunton did go to sea, and 
if an accident did happen — well, it would be very 
fortunate for us.” 

“Especially if you made sure that such an accident 
would happen,” said his spouse, drawing her lips primly 
together. 


CHAPTER II 

Glorious News 

Later that same evening Mr. and Mrs. Carey continued 
their discussion concerning the ultimate fate of Sydney 
Brunton — the subject of their arguments then lying 
upstairs in bed, packed between thick blankets and 
sweating profusely. 

“I can feel it in my bones,” said Mr. Carey, “that 
we shall never get rid of him. An ordinary boy would 
have been drowned to-day ; but he is still alive. We shall 
come to harm yet. I wish Brunton had never sailed in 
the Chesapeake, and left us to this guardianship. Here 
we are, up to the eyes in debt — if the young whelp had 
been drowned to-day, we need never have troubled our 
heads about it — even the remaining two hundred pounds 
would have helped.” 

“All the more reason why you should follow my 
advice,” commented his wife; and if Syd had heard her 
voice he might have known supreme discomfort. “The 
sooner he is out of the way the better. This business 
of his about saving that boy’s life is sure to get into 
the papers, hosts of people will want to know him, and 
— well, there you are.” 

“Yes, here we are. I wish he was dead, Maria, I 
wish he was dead. And the sea that destroyed his 
father — um — er — yes, I feel very much disposed to try 
my luck. But it will be difficult — very difficult. I 
c 17 


18 Sons of the Sea 

mean, to arrange an accident, you know. We do not 
know anybody who could help us.” 

“Yes, we do — at least, I do. Do you remember John 
Forbes?” 

“ What ! Forbes ? Forbes ? Maria, until you spoke 
the man’s existence had escaped my memory. Forbes ! 
That is an inspired thought on your part. The man I 
defended when he was accused of manslaughter. Yes, 
yes. He was as guilty as ever a man was, but I got 
him off. I suppose he would be commonly grateful.” 

“And he was a sailor, too,” amended his wife. “I 
don’t pretend to know much about these matters, but 
if you can secure the help of a sailor, and if you send 
Sydney to sea — well, the matter should not be difficult 
to arrange. The only trouble is, Forbes would need 
payment.” 

A sly look came over the lawyer’s face; he shook 
his head. 

“No, we could wriggle out of that. If he disposed 
of the boy the crime would be his entirely. If he came 
and proved that Sydney was dead and demanded a 
reward — well, my dear, we could arrange for a witness 
or two to overhear his statement, and then we could 
confront him with these witnesses, and threaten to have 
him arrested on a charge of murder. That would scare 
him into silence. I think I see a light now ; but it 
would have been so much easier if the young scoundrel 
had been drowned to-day, very much easier. However, 
I have not yet lost all hope, and go to sea he shall. I 
wonder — I suppose there is no chance of his contracting 
pneumonia; it was a severe wetting he got.” 

“Jabez, that boy will never take any disease; he 
seems to delight in remaining healthy and strong, just 
to annoy us. When I gave him a dose of medicine 


Glorious News 19 

to-night — it had to be done because Dr. Halliday in- 
sisted — I felt as though nothing would please me better 
than to slip a little poison into the draught; I hate 
that boy, husband.” 

“So do I. He stands between me and success. 
Every day I am afraid lest he should grow suspicious 
and demand to know how I have conducted my steward- 
ship. I wish he was dead — I wish he was dead.” 

“He soon will be now, that’s one comfort.” Mrs. 
Carey shut her mouth with a snap, and her husband 
walked impatiently about the room, his hands beneath 
his coat-tails. An ugly frown creased his brows; his 
head was poked forward, his lips were pursed in an 
expression that boded no good for the unfortunate lad 
dpstairs. 

Presently, without saying anything further, he left 
the room, and Syd, who had been living over again 
that mad struggle in the river, was surprised to hear his 
name spoken in his guardian’s rasping voice. 

“Are you awake, Sydney?” 

“Yes, sir, I’m awake.” The lad quaked a little, for 
it was quite on the cards that he was in for a severe 
lecture, if not an actual thrashing. He wriggled his 
shoulders in painful anticipation ; but, contrary to his 
expectations, Mr. Carey sat down on the tumbled bed, 
and regarded him very thoughtfully. 

“You have done a very brave thing to-day,” said 
the lawyer, making a determined effort to be genial and 
not altogether succeeding. “So brave, indeed, that I 
have come to the conclusion such pluck would be wasted 
in a lawyer’s office. A boy who can swim as you 
swam, and who can plunge into a swollen river, should 
be doing real work for his country.” 

“Wonder what on earth he’s driving at?” thought 


20 


Sons of the Sea 

Syd, frankly bewildered. ‘‘I like him less this way than 
when he’s angry, though.” 

The next moment he was sitting up in bed, flushed 
of face, very bright of eye, hardly able to believe the 
evidence of his senses. 

“Go to sea ! ” he demanded shrilly. “Me? To sea, 

sir ! Why — why, I thought that — I never believed ” 

Surprise made him incoherent; but Carey smiled, with 
forced and unnatural geniality. 

“That is my suggestion ; I’ve watched you for some 
time, and I have come to the conclusion that you would 
never make a good lawyer, although it was your father’s 
wish. And since he is dead, it seemed to me that I 
must carry out his wish to the letter. But — you were to 
be allowed a certain amount of free choice, and so, if 
you would care to go to sea, it might be arranged.” 

Syd glowed and found that his heart was beating 
faster than he had ever known it beat before. The 
fondest dream of his life bade fair to be realised ; here 
was a chance to devote his life to the profession that 
had always appealed to him strongly since first his 
youthful eyes had conned the pages of “Peter Simple.” 

Then he felt a sudden check in his enthusiasm. Mr. 
Carey would impose some impossible conditions on his 
consent to the step ; he was certainly not a man to give 
something for nothing. No; his guardian was speak- 
ing again — words that the lad would have believed im- 
possible tw r enty-four hours before. 

“And if you agree that there is no other life for 
you but the sea, Sydney, there is no need to waste any 
time. I think you should proceed with your arrange- 
ments at once — at once. You see, the Cape Horn is 
due to sail in a very little while.” 

“The Cape Horn! ” At the most he had imagined 


Glorious News 21 

an ordinary sailing, ship would be chosen for the scene 
of his labours; but here dream was being piled on 
dream, and Roy Halliday was to go as midshipman on 
the training ship. 

“Yes, the Cape Horn; you must go to sea as befits 
your condition. Your father’s son could not go aboard 
a cheap sailing vessel as a working apprentice.” 

Poor Syd would have thought it the height of bliss, 
twenty-four hours before, to go as cook’s boy on the 
dingiest coaster that ever carried a cargo of coals. 

“That is all I have to say; if you are wishful to go 
to sea, go to sea you shall. I am not the man to curb 
your natural desires. Perhaps, after a month, you will 
regret the step, but that is your own affair. I want you 
to remember, my boy, that I have your interests at heart, 
although there has never been a real companionship 
between us. It has seemed to me that you have dis- 
liked me, that — that you have almost hated me, and it 
has cut me to the heart more often than I can say. But 
now you will know that your welfare has always been 
my primary consideration. You have misjudged me. 
Sydney ; a little discipline is necessary in the case of a 
high-spirited boy such as you are. Now, go to sleep 
and dream over it.” 

He stood for a moment looking down at his ward, 
but his back was to the light, and Syd, thinking of the 
Cape Horn, did not see his crafty, calculating expres- 
sion. Mr. Carey went out of the room and downstairs; 
Syd lay back and gave up his brain to rapturous 
thoughts. He was to go to sea — no longer could Roy 
Halliday crow over him. He was to taste the salt kiss 
of the wind-driven spindrift on his lips — to see the 
wonders of the Lord in the vasty deep. He was to set 
foot in strange countries; to climb aloft to the reeling, 


22 


Sons of the Sea 

jolting yards, to run the gauntlet of pirates and 
mutineers. He did not pause to think that the twentieth 
century boasted but few pirates, and no mutineers; the 
world seemed to spin around him in glittering con- 
fusion. 

To him, dreaming there, came Roy Halliday, 
anxious with inquiries as to his welfare. Mr. Carey had 
no intention of hiding his light under a bushel ; he 
wanted it to be widely known that he had performed an 
act of generosity ; and when Roy showed up at the door, 
he gave orders that he was to be admitted forthwith. 

“Roy, it’s too good to be true, but I’m going to sea. 
Father Carey says so — to sea! You’re not the only 
lucky beggar in the world; I’m going, too.” 

Roy’s eyes opened to their widest; he shot out a 
hand and lugged Syd from the bed. 

“ Cheer oh ! Dance, you duffer ; chortle, for any 
sake, get lively. You’re going to sea! ” Solemnly, a 
strange figure in pyjamas, Syd danced up and down the 
room, threw out his arms and spun round on his toes 
until he was giddy, and then flung himself down on the 
bed. 

“I’m going to sea,” he gasped. “And in the Cape 
Horn. Can you believe it? I can’t; it feels like — like 
living in a toffee shop. The Carey bird says I’m to go; 
we’ll go together. Think of the pirates, Roy ! Think 
of the cheerful desert islands; think of — goodness! — 
think of it all and cheer ! ” 

They cheered, separately and collectively; they em- 
braced each other and danced a prancing measure up 
and down the floor until the windows shook. They 
held away from each other and struck scientifically ; 
they wrestled and jiu-jitsued after the fashion of boys 
the world over, because they were young and plucky, 


Glorious News 23 

and the dearest wishes of their hearts bade fair to be 
realised. And then, utterly breathless, they squatted 
down on the bed and talked, building innumerable 
castles in the air. 

“The thing that puzzles me,” said Roy, after a long 
time, “is, why did the Carey thing let you go? I 
thought he was dead against it all the time ! ” 

“Says I deserve it for my gallantry in rescuing that 
Sam chap. As if I’d done anything at all ! I could 
swim, and so I had to make a shot at it; there was 
nothing else to do. I’d have been a funny sort of chap 
if I’d held off.” 

“But it isn’t like Father Carey to — to show grateful 
in that way. A snake doesn’t get generous all of a 
sudden.” 

“Oh, bother reasons; I’m going to sea, that’s the 
main thing. We’re going together; and we’ll knock 
spots off ‘ Peter Simple ’ and all the rest. We’ll take 
that revolver; if there’s a mutiny it might come in 
handy, you know.” 

It was necessary at this point to resume the dance of 
delight; but the entertainment was cut short by the 
voice of Mr. Carey outside the door, demanding silence. 

“Don’t rile him, for pity’s sake, don’t rile him,” 
implored Syd, as Roy seemed disposed to make an 
angry retort. “We mustn’t spoil our chances now. 
He’s quite capable of turning round and forbidding me; 
I’m going to butter him up for all I’m worth.” 

It seemed a reasonable suggestion; and so the dis- 
cussion was continued in a lower tone of voice. Pre- 
sently Roy left the house, and Syd was at liberty to lie 
back and dream joyous dreams of a marvellous future. 
In the morning he was so far recovered as to be able 
to take his place at the decidedly frugal breakfast-table, 


24 Sons of the Sea 

where he behaved as a model of discretion. Mr. Carey 
betrayed no desire to thw^art his ambitions, how r ever. 
Instead, he spoke about the coming change at length, 
pointing out that to get on in a chosen profession it w r as 
very necessary to work hard and take any reasonable 
risks. 

“Don’t be afraid of showing your pluck,” he said. 
“Be the first to go aloft, no matter what the weather 
might be. Your officers will commend you for it; you 
will climb up the ladder of promotion as quickly as you 
climb the rigging.” 

“Got mighty fatherly all of a sudden,” thought 
Syd. “What’s the odds? I’m going to sea; that’s 
enough.” 

He found, when he left the house, that he was by 
way of being a hero in the village ; news of what he had 
done had spread everywhere. Being a natural young 
Briton this fact caused him some displeasure; he had 
no hankering after publicity. But common decency 
demanded that he should make inquiry as to Sam Long- 
staffe’s welfare. He called at the house of Sam’s uncle, 
and made sympathetic proffers of assistance, but found 
that the lad he had rescued, being tough as nails as a 
result of his training, was up and about ; in all prob- 
ability, said Mrs. Longton, he and Harry were in 
mischief again. But they were not; they were only 
sitting on a wall that commanded the village duck-pond, 
shying stones at any feathered thing which appeared in 
sight. As soon as Sam caught sight of Syd he dropped 
to the ground. 

“I want to thank you,” he said clumsily. “It was 
a big thing you did. I can’t pay you back; but I’d 
like you to know I’m grateful.” 

“Right-oh,” said Syd carelessly. “But I’d learn to 


Glorious News 25 

swim if I were you.” He went on and met Roy; they 
passed a very happy forenoon together. 

And then time began to take unto itself wings. 
There was so much to be done that every day seemed 
far too short for the many tasks it held. The question 
of an outfit had to be considered. There seemed no 
reasonable possibility of Syd’s being refused entry 
aboard the Cape Horn; Mr. Carey had been in com- 
munication with the owners, and they had a vacancy for 
a cadet. 

It might be that Syd would have gone to sea very 
indifferently equipped for the hazardous life, because 
neither his guardian nor his guardian’s wife had much 
idea of what was required. But here Sam Longstaffe 
came to the rescue ; and when he heard that his saviour 
was to be an actual shipmate of his own, spared no pains 
to point out the things that should be avoided and the 
things that should be obtained. 

“They’ll tell you to get leather sea-boots,” said he 
darkly, as, the outfitter’s list in hand, Syd and Roy 
discussed equipment. “Don’t get ’em. They’re no 
good. The soles get smooth as ice, an’ if the ship 
heaves ever so little first thing you know is that you’re 
down in the lee scuppers with your head against a 
stanchion ; you can’t stand up in the things. Get rubber 
boots; they’re the right thing. And, let me buy your 
oilskins for you; I know the kind to get. You don’t 
want ’em lined throughout and bound with leather — 
same as they advertise ’em; you want ’em so’s they 
won’t stick together and lose all the oil as soon as they 
get wet.” 

As was only natural, the brass-bound uniform was 
the main attraction in Syd’s eyes. It came from the 
tailor’s on the night before he was due to leave the 


26 


Sons of the Sea 

pdace he called home; and he smuggled it up to his 
room with a strange choking feeling in his throat. He 
donned it with trembling fingers, clapped the smart 
badge cap rakishly on the back of his head, and sur- 
veyed the result in the mirror. He was near to tears 
for some curious reason; he saw now the realisation of 
his ambition, and the magnificent fact caught him by 
the heart. 

Don’t blame him, boys; the spasm soon passed. 
But regarding himself there in the glass, not from any 
sense of vanity, but merely to gloat over the uniform 
that it was his right to wear, he vowed solemnly that, 
come storm or calm, come danger or stress, he would 
endeavour with all his might to be a true British sailor — 
and there are not many finer ambitions. 

The articles of indenture were signed and witnessed 
long ago ; the big black sea-chest, with its cunning trays 
for holding small articles of personal importance, was 
standing in the hall, packed to overflowing, only await- 
ing the smart uniform to complete it. 

Syd took off the clothing and folded it away care- 
fully. He donned his ordinary attire, and carried the 
uniform downstairs. His guardian had not expressed 
any desire to see him properly clad as a sailor ; his main 
idea seemed to be to get the preliminaries over with as 
little delay as possible. 

Syd laid the garments on top of the chest and closed 
the lid. Upon him there burst Roy Halliday, resplen- 
dent in blue serge and gilt buttons. 

“Me for the quarter-deck! ” he shouted. “Look at 
me ! Don’t I shine? Why, you’re in plain clothes ! ” 

“I’m not a sailor yet,” said Syd firmly. “Only a 
dry-lander. Shan’t be a sailor till I’ve seen my ship, 
anyway. So I’m going to wear these till I get aboard; 


Glorious News 27 

and you can jolly well make the best of it.” Roy made 
light of the matter, but his chum was as adamant; until 
his foot had trodden the Cape Horn’s deck he refused to 
wear the uniform of his chosen calling. 

But the morrow was to witness the start. A few 
hours would mean a severance from the old life; the 
world with its vast vistas of adventure and peril loomed 
gloriously before their eyes. They talked again of all 
they would do in the coming time; they fought their 
battles before the time for combat had -arrived; and 
when they separated they hardly knew whether they 
stood on their heads or their heels. 

The morrow came, and brought with it for Syd 
a whirl of hasty preparations. Mr. Carey would accom- 
pany him aboard the ship to introduce him to his cap- 
tain. Syd was not over-pleased at this, but accepted it 
with his customary resignation. Mr. Carey had a 
reason for this journey, as he had a reason for most 
other things. He had paid one or two surreptitious visits 
to Poolhaven, where the Cape Horn was taking aboard 
her cargo for Hong Kong, and he had discovered the 
whereabouts of the man Forbes. More than that, he 
had met him, and had suggested the advisability of his 
becoming a member of the Cape Horn’s crew. Forbes 
was nothing loth; one ship was as good as another to 
him; or all were equally bad. If he wondered at the 
drift of the lawyer’s suggestions he did not question 
them, knowing that this man might serve him ill if he 
showed truculence. 

Dr. Halliday and his wife were also to form members 
of the little party that left Summerford on that eventful 
morning; and Sam Longstaffe and Harry Longton crept 
without advertisement into a rear carriage of the train. 
Syd, watching his guardian’s dark face, and contrasting 


28 


Sons of the Sea 

it with Dr. Halliday’s, began to envy his chum. He 
knew that he would not be missed when he was gone; 
his absence would be a relief ; there was not a soul to 
care whether he lived or died. 

“Homesick, Syd?” asked the doctor kindly. 

“No, sir; not homesick. It’s just — well, I can’t put 
it into words, but there’s a funny sort of feeling. 
Summerford wasn’t a bad place, you know.” 

“Jolly fine place to get out of,” cried Roy; and 
then, meeting his mother’s eyes, he shrank into him- 
self, remembering that in the coming days there would 
be no mother to understand and sympathise. However, 
that was not a sailor’s way — to be tied to his mother’s 
apron-strings — and so he gulped down a lump in his 
throat and felt in his pocket for the crisp and crackling 
five-pound note that lay there — his father’s parting 
gift. 

And then, inside another three hours, they were at 
Poolhaven ; the big sea-chests were piled on a cab ; they 
were bowling towards dockland ; and high above a ware- 
house top showed the towering, graceful spars of a 
mighty ship. 

“There, boys, that’s the Cape Horn” said Dr. Halli- 
day, pointing ; and a moment later their future home lay 
plainly in sight before their eager eyes. 


CHAPTER III 

The “Cape Horn”— and some of her Crew 

To the eye of a sailor, the Cape Horn was a full-rigged 
ship of two thousand two hundred tons burthen, carry- 
ing double topsails and double topgallant sails, with 
raking poles, long lower yards, that promised a vast 
spread of canvas and consequent speed ; and a fixed bow- 
sprit. Outwardly, she was painted to represent black 
ports on a white ground, inwardly she was glittering 
white. A steel ship with a topgallant forecastle, and a 
full poop, her somewhat considerable sheer seemed 
to indicate that in dirty weather she would be a very 
hog; but now in dock, with the vagrant sunlight pick- 
ing out the glittering brass of binnacle-hood and hand- 
rail until it shone and twinkled like gold, she appeared 
the acme of safety and comfort, from her teak-wood 
wheel to her jibboom end. And to the lads who 
looked on her with shining eyes she was a fairy ship, 
the desire of their hearts. 

At the moment of their first seeing her she was a 
bustle of activity ; the riggers were toiling aloft, bending 
sail, a multiplicity of confusing orders were being 
shouted from the decks; cargo was whirling aboard 
down every hatch ; a tug on the farther side was sending 
a thick cloud of evil smoke across the hull ; and a man 
in uniform was expressing, in no very polished terms, 
his opinion of the skipper of that tug. 

29 


30 


Sons of the Sea 

Syd turned to Roy, and saw in his chum’s eyes 
such a sparkle as he knew must be in his own. But 
neither lad spoke; their hearts were too full for 
words. 

“Wanting to get aboard, sir?” asked a stevedore 
of Dr. Halliday. “Bringing the gentlemen rope- 
haulers, eh ? ” 

He grinned widely at sight of Roy’s burnished 
buttons; and Syd felt suddenly glad that he had not 
donned his kit. The stevedore showed them a sloping 
plank that terminated in a gaping hole in the ship’s 
side. It was a precarious gangway enough, but the lads 
danced up light-heartedly; they felt that it was up to 
them to show the onlookers that, though juvenile and 
as yet untried sailors, they possessed all the necessary 
accomplishments. Mrs. Halliday looked at the bending 
plank, at the discoloured water beneath, shut her eyes, 
and uttered a little cry of consternation. 

“Hold on a minute, sir; we’ll get something better 
rigged.” It was the man in uniform who had been 
talking to the tug’s skipper. “Here, you youngsters, 
show what you’re made of. Run this gangway ashore — 
so, heave-ho, and away she goes ! ” 

The lads grasped the staging clumsily enough, but 
somehow it was shot ashore ; and the officer — they knew 
him a little later for the second mate, by the two gold 
rings on his cuffs — dusted his hands. 

“Haven’t got the crew aboard yet; and the boys 
don’t join yet aw-hile. Oh, yes, though, Briggs is 
aboard. Pass the word for Briggs.” 

Someone shouted the name ; it went along the decks, 
growing fainter and fainter until it died away altogether. 
But by the time Mrs. Halliday was safely landed a tall 
lad with a somewhat displeasing face and a truculent 


3i 


The “Cape Horn” 

manner, dressed in well-washed and not over-clean 
dungarees, with a badgeless cap, crushed and stained, 
on his head, appeared at the gangway, and made a 
pretence of touching his cap-peak. 

“Want me, sir ? ” 

“Yes; here are some new boys, I fancy. You’d 
better stand-by ready to show them the way about. 
Meantime — didn’t I tell you to get the poop cleared up ? 
It’s like a pigsty. I’m sick of telling you a thousand 
times to do one single job.” 

Syd thought that Briggs’s appearance was not pleas- 
ing. Roy disliked him at sight. 

“That’s a bully, if you like,” he whispered to his 
chum. “Can’t you see the marks; it’s sticking out all 
over him. He’ll give us a gruelling, Syd.” 

“Let him; you and I are good enough for him, 
unless he’s an officer. But perhaps he’s only out of 
sorts.” 

“If you’ll come aft, I’ll show you the skipper’s 
room,” said the second officer. His name was Seymour, 
and he was a very fine type of British seaman. “He’s 
engaged at present, but I dare say he’ll be at liberty 
soon.” He addressed Dr. Halliday, ignoring Mr. 
Carey. 

The little party followed him along the disordered 
deck to the break of the poop, a handsomely carved 
piece of teakwood, cut through by several doors and 
ports. They stepped over the weather-sill of the star- 
board door, and, after traversing a narrow corridor, 
found themselves in the main saloon of the Cape Horn , 
a stately apartment, reaching right aft, with a mag- 
nificent skylight of stained glass in the deck above. 
Beneath the skylight was a veritable conservatory of 
plants, rare tropical growths for the most part. There 


32 Sons of the Sea 

was a tray of glittering glassware also, and the brass 
and silver lamps, with the fittings of the sideboard, 
which bore a handsome display of plate, formed a very 
pleasing spectacle. 

Mrs. Halliday gazed longingly at the planking, 
which was not covered by the rich carpet in the centre 
of the apartment, and which was as white as a hound’s 
tooth. 

“And so this is your future home, Roy?” said 
the lad’s mother. She was not far from tears, for it 
is a terrible thing to give your only son to a life that 
holds many perils. 

“No, not quite,” smiled the officer. “I’m afraid 
the boys don’t live aft much — not in the saloon, any- 
way. You see, there’s an old-fashioned idea that to 
make a sailor of a lad he must learn to rough it, 
and brass and silver don’t altogether enter into the 
owners’ scale of things. I’ll tell the captain you’re 
here.” 

Someone left a room on the starboard side of the 
saloon, and a minute or two later a bronzed, bearded 
man showed himself. He was not in uniform ; he 
wore, indeed, ordinary tweeds, but he seemed likeable 
enough, though there was a suggestion of sternness 
in his face that caused the boys to think life for the 
future might not be all playtime. 

“Captain Branksome?” asked Dr. Halliday, rising. 

The lads stood with their backs to the polished 
and inlaid heel of the mizenmast, and realised now 
that their destinies lay completely in this man’s 
hands. 

“Yes, I’m skipper here, sir. Are you Dr. Halli- 
day ? How do you do, ma’am ? ” 

In another five seconds Captain Branksome had set 


The “ Cape Horn ” 33 

his visitors at their ease. He was a man of many 
accomplishments, and despite a certain breeziness and 
loudness in his voice, bred of much hailing the 
masthead on stormy nights, he was undoubtedly a 
gentleman. 

“We’ll have some refreshments,” he remarked, 
ringing for the steward. “But as I dare say these boys 
are itching to see their own quarters, we might as 
well put them out of their misery. Steward, ask Mr. 
Seymour to step this way.” 

The second mate had absented himself as soon as 
he was satisfied that the visitors were properly cared 
for. Now, however, he reappeared. 

“Before you go, boys, I’d like to say one or two 
things to you,” remarked the captain. “In some 
respects this ship is like a school, but primarily it is 
a ship, and governed as such. I insist on firm dis- 
cipline. Ordinary larking I don’t mind; practical 
joking isn’t vetoed, so long as it is not malicious. But 
I will not have shirking; each boy must do his fair 
share of the work. I will not have loafing— except 
out of working hours, and then you may play as hard 
as you like. And I will not have lying or cursing. 
Apart from that — well, we’ll get to know each other 
better in a little while. Show these boys to their 
quarters, Mr. Seymour, if you please.” 

The second mate turned away as the steward brought 
in a tray of refreshments for the elders, and the boys 
followed him. They had noticed, as they came aboard, 
a big erection on the after-deck, a teakwood house, 
pierced by ports, surmounted by a boat-deck : a roomy, 
somewhat unsightly building. Mr. Seymour opened 
the door of this place and stepped over the high sill. 
Every door aboard the Cape Horn was high-silled, to 

D 


34 Sons of the Sea 

prevent the seas from washing out the apartments 
within. 

“Here’s the palace,” he said. “Take a look round, 
and make yourselves at home; you’ve as much right 
here as anyone else now.” 

He disappeared, leaving the boys to stare at each 
other and their surroundings. If either of them felt 
a shock they bravely refrained from showing it. They 
were in a vast, well-nigh empty place, not too clean 
as yet, with hooks fixed in the deck beams overhead, 
with bunks ranged round the walls in tiers. Narrow 
tables of unpolished wood ran down the room from 
forward aft, and there were benches to match the tables. 
At one end were several cupboards, all of them 
numbered. When they ventured to open one of these, 
cockroaches scuttled away into dark corners, to the 
accompaniment of a musty smell. 

“I suppose it’s all right,” said Syd a trifle dubiously; 
“but it looks rather like a prison.” 

The door opened as he spoke to give entry to 
Briggs, who drew forth a packet of cigarettes from 
his pocket and lit one with ostentation. 

“Smoke?” he asked, tendering the packet. 

Both lads denied the soft impeachment. 

“You’ll soon learn; if you’re going to be proper 
sailors, that is. What possessed you to come to sea? 
It’s a rotten life. I’d rather break stones at the 
roadside.” 

“Surprised you stick at it, then,” said Roy cheekily; 
and Briggs’s face grew a shade darker than its wont. 
It was not a particularly prepossessing face; it was 
pimply, and the skin was yellowish. 

“Oh, so you’ve got a tongue, have you? Better 
learn to keep it quiet. I’m senior midshipman here, 


The “ Gape Horn” 35 

and that means something. She’s a rotten ship, this; 
got rotten officers, going a rotten voyage. I say, could 
you lend me a sovereign for a day or two until I hear 
from my people ? ” 

Syd made a pantomimic show of turning his 
pockets inside out to show their emptiness and shook 
his head. He did not like Briggs, and even if he 
had had money would not have been disposed to 
lend it. 

“Never mind; I’ll give the old man a note, and 
that’ll square the thing,” said the senior midshipman. 
“Well, here’s the bug-trap, anyway. In hot weather 
it’s like an oven ; in cold weather it’s like an ice-chest ; 
in bad weather it’s always afloat; and in dry weather 
don’t the biting beasts waken you up ! It’s just a 
floating pigsty. If I were you I’d cut away before 
it’s too late.” 

“Thanks, but we’ll stick it out now we’ve come 
so far,” said Syd quietly. “You see, we’ve signed 
the indentures for one thing.” 

“Well, I don’t envy you your job. They make 
us work pretty hard here. Look at me; I’ve spent all 
day down the fore-hold, stowing cargo, or seeing it 
properly stowed, which is the same thing. I’ve had 
to lick a couple of stevedores for cheek, but that’s a 
part of the work, of course.” 

“It must have taken a lot out of you,” said Syd. 
“Licking two men, I mean.” 

At once Briggs’s voice became blustering. 

“You trying to pull my leg? Mean to say I’m 
lying? It’s nothing to lick a couple of stevedores. 
You ought to have seen me last voyage in Hong 
Kong; five Chinamen set on me at once, and I’d 
only my fists. But they were mighty sorry when I’d 


36 Sons of the Sea 

finished with them, I can tell you. I believe one of 
them died.” 

“What from — blood-poisoning?” asked Roy, very 
meekly, gazing nevertheless at Briggs’s by no means 
spotless hands. 

“So you’re a funny man, are you?” 

Briggs possessed himself of Roy’s wrist and began 
to twist it thoughtfully. Roy bore it in patience for 
a while, until the pain grew intense, and then he gave 
himself a sudden sharp jerk. Briggs picked himself 
up from the deck and rubbed his head. 

“Jiu-jitsu — fine thing!” remarked Roy. “Now, if 
you’d known how to do that your five Chinamen might 
have been fifty, and you needn’t have turned a hair. 
Do we all live here — all twenty, I mean ? ” 

“Yes; you youngsters sling hammocks from the 
beams.” Briggs had become rather more tractable; the 
sudden action that had laid him on the floor had plainly 
disconcerted him not a little. “We older ones sleep 
in the bunks. That’s mine — with the curtains. This 
place here ” — he opened a door that gave on a noisome 
locker — “is for oilskins. It’s a fine if you leave ’em 
lying about in the living-room. No butter for a week, 
that’s what you’ve got to pay.” 

“Who takes the butter? The skipper?” asked 
Syd. 

“No; the old hands divide it. There’s never enough 
to last the week, you see. Same with marmalade. 
Those lockers along there are where you keep your 
eating gear ” 

“The place where the beetles crawl?” 

It was Syd who asked this question. 

“Oh, you’ll learn not to mind a few cockroaches 
now and then. I’ve seen ’em so thick that you’ve to 


The “ Cape Horn ” 37 

skim them from the top of your pea soup before you 
can eat it.” 

He showed them one or two more details of the 
bare apartment, and then led them out on deck. The 
sun was shining, gilding the Cape Horn's brasswork, 
picking out her hidden splendours. The two boys 
looked aloft at the delicate tracery of the spars and 
and drew in deep breaths of delight. The 
half-deck might not be a palace, they said, but the 
ship was a ship. 

‘‘You’ll get fed up with up aloft before you’re 
many weeks older,” grunted Briggs. “When it’s your 
watch on deck you’ll live half your time on the royal 
yard. And wait till you’ve to go up in a gale. It’s 
not a nice job.” 

What did the boys care for these blots on their 
brightness ? They moved about the ship’s decks with 
keen enjoyment, taking in the shapeliness of her lines 
unconsciously, and they seemed barely to have walked 
for’ard when they were summoned aft by a stevedore, 
who told them “the old man was howling something 
fierce.” They were aft with alacrity, running like deer, 
and found the oldsters standing on the quarterdeck. 
The time had come for farewell. Dr. Halliday, a busy 
man, could not spare long from his practice; Mr. 
Carey had other matters to attend to. 

“The boys will take you to their own quarters; 
you’ll be quieter there,” said Captain Branksome, 
turning away. “I must leave you now; a captain 
is a busy man when his ship is nearly ready for 
sea.” 

Then the boys led the way to the big half-deck. 

There was not much to be said. Mr. Carey seemed 
nervous and preoccupied; he coughed and cleared his 


38 Sons of the Sea 

throat; and as Mrs. Halliday sat down suddenly on 
a bench and drew her son towards her, he laid a hand 
on Syd’s shoulder. 

“Now, Sydney, I’ve done my best for you. You’ve 
got all the w'orld before you ; make the most of it. 
Remember what I said — don’t be afraid to take risks. 
Captain Branksome was telling me that he liked pluck 
in boys.” Perhaps Syd’s guardian had looked aloft 
and realised how many things might happen in that 
tracery of spars and ropes. “I’ll leave you now. I 
suppose you’ll be anxious to make the acquaintance of 
your future home. Ah ! and here’s something to buy 
yourself sweets with.” 

He pressed a sovereign into the lad’s hand, shook 
that hand with limp fervour, stumbled over the high 
door-sill, and Syd saw him no more. For as he was 
on the point of following his guardian on deck Mrs. 
Halliday reached out a motherly hand and drew T him 
towards her gently. She even went so far as to kiss 
his forehead; a process w 7 hich, under other conditions, 
Syd would have resented bitterly. 

“I’m sorry there’s no mother to wish you God- 
speed, Syd,” she said. “But you’ll have to put up 
w r ith me. Oh, boys, do stick to each other, and don’t 
do anything you’d be ashamed to tell me of. I’m not 

going to preach to you, but — but ” There were 

tears in her eyes now, and Syd felt prickly about the 
throat. 

“Come along, mother,” said Dr. Halliday gruffly. 
“If we don’t catch that train we’ll never get home 
to-night. . . . Good-night, Roy. God bless you. 

. . . Good-bye, Syd. If there’s one thing can 

reconcile me to losing Roy it’s the thought that he’s 
with you. Here, buy yourself something — anything.” 


The “ Cape Horn ” 39 

It was a five-pound note that insinuated itself into 
Syd’s hand. He gulped forth grateful thanks, sur- 
prised that such a cloud of depression should have 
descended upon his feelings. 

Mrs. Halliday groped in her bag and produced two 
small Bibles. She presented one to each boy. Then 
it seemed as though a mist descended upon their senses. 
They had a vague impression of accompanying their 
elders to the gangway, of seeing them enter the waiting 
cab, of seeing a handkerchief waved. After that . . . 

“You’re crying,” said Roy, and sniffed. 

“Well, what if I am? They’re my own eyes, aren’t 
they? I’ll use them for what I like. Wish I’d got 
a mother of my own. My word, but this ship seems 
bigger than before, doesn’t it?” 

They watched the cab turn round the corner of a 
warehouse and disappear. They felt very helpless and 
very much alone. Henceforth they would have no 
kindly counsellors to whom to turn for help and advice. 
They were sailors at last ; they took brevet-rank as 
men. And it was very lonely indeed. Because, how- 
ever keen a lad might be to leave his home, he must, 
if he be any sort of a lad at all, know something of 
sadness at parting with those who love him. Too late, 
maybe, he realises all that home means. But a truce 
to sermonising, for within an hour the lads had for- 
gotten their grief and were consumed with interest in 
their new surroundings. 

When they entered the half-deck again Briggs was 
seated on a bench, his coat off, his sleeves tucked up, 
devouring hash. His eyes lighted on the Bibles in the 
lads’ hands and he grinned. 

“Good moral food,” he grunted. “Have you shaken 
’em yet ? ” 


40 


Sons of the Sea 

They stared in bewilderment. 

“Never heard the story of the boy who went to 

sea? His father wanted to make sure he’d read his 

Bible, and when the lad got home he was asked if 

he had. ‘ Right through from one end to the other,’ 

he said; and then his father asked to see the Bible. 
He opened it and took out a fiver that he’d hidden 
between the leaves — showed the youngster hadn’t even 
opened it. So we always shake ’em now; doesn’t do 
to run risks.” And he took the books from their 
possessors’ hands. Shake he never so wisely nothing 
was given up, and with a grunt of disgust he handed 
them back. “Afraid folks are getting too wise,” he 
said. “If you chaps are hungry you’d better tuck in. 
You’ll have brought eating-gear, of course. Take my 
tip and get your chests unpacked; you’ll be turned-to 
before you know where you are.” 

They unlocked their chests, and after a search dis- 
covered the enamelled ware that they had been advised 
to procure. The hash was not particularly tempting, 
served as it was in a tin kitt that showed signs of 
usage; but they found they had acquired appetites, 
and somehow they contrived to stow away all the food 
there was, washing down the hash and the soft tack — 
Briggs told them that soft tack would become a thing 
much to be prized before they had been at sea long 
• — with draughts of something which might have been 
either coffee or tea. 

“We’ve got to fend for ourselves until the crew 
join; then we have a mess-boy,” said Briggs, drawing 
forth a pipe. “If you chaps like to listen, I’ll tell 
you how I licked a six-foot nigger last voyage but 
one.” 

Whilst the senior cadet was drawing on his imag- 


The “ Cape Horn ” 41 

ination for details of a fight that had never taken 
place, Mr. Carey was seated in a private room of an 
inconspicuous public-house. Opposite to him was a 
man in the rough, nondescript dress affected by seamen 
when ashore on holiday — a man with a somewhat un- 
pleasing face. 

“Let’s know what you’re driving at, mister,” de- 
manded this individual. “Put it fair and square, as 
between men.” 

Mr. Carey leaned a little nearer, and glanced towards 
the door, which was locked. 

“There’s a boy making the voyage in the Cape 
Horn he said slowly. “His name is Sydney Brunton. 
I don’t want him ever to come back from this voyage, 
do you understand?” 

“Oh, I see. Lumme ! that’s your game, is it? 
Murder ! ” 

“Sh — sh ! Not that word. Not murder. But if 
an accident happened — accidents do happen at times, 
you know — I should be very grateful to the man who 
arranged that accident. So grateful, indeed, that I 
might be disposed to pay him a handsome sum if he 
came and told me that Sydney Brunton was dead.” 

“Well, it’s worth talking about,” said the man, 
who answered to the name of John Forbes. “But 
how much are you prepared to pay?” 

“We’ll arrange that. Will you see that an acci- 
dent does happen?” asked Syd’s guardian. “That 
wretched boy isn’t wanted at home — he’s dangerous. 
A bad boy, always in trouble; a young scoundrel. 
You would be doing more people than one a good turn 
if you — arranged an accident.” 

Forbes brought his fist down on the table with a 
crash that made the lawyer jump in his seat. 


42 


Sons of the Sea 

“You got me off, I’m remembering that,” he said. 
“If the price is right the work’ll be done — ’twon’t be 
difficult. A slash with a knife, say, up aloft, or — 
oh, there’s thousands of ways. Let’s talk about the 
price, mister.” 

Half an hour later Mr. Carey left the public-house 
and walked towards the station. As he went he smiled 
thoughtfully. He had satisfactorily arranged that 
Sydney’s first voyage should be his last. 


CHAPTER IV 
Outward Bound 

“Good-bye, sir, and a pleasant voyage; you’ll need 
your oilskins to-night,” said the pilot cheerily, stand- 
ing for a moment on the rail. Beneath him the tiny 
dinghy that had put off from the pilot-cutter a cable’s 
length away, tugged at the painter like a dog at a 
leash; it soared aloft, it swooped down into watery 
hollows, spray whistled around it. 

“Good-bye, pilot; good-bye.” 

Roy Halliday hastened up at this moment with a 
final letter to his mother. Syd w r atching, standing by 
the main topgallant braces, knew a regret that he had 
no one to w T hom to write letters of farewell. 

“Right you are, youngster; I’ll see it’s posted.” 

The pilot clambered down the shaking Jacob’s ladder, 
w r atched his opportunity, and leaped cleverly into the 
stern of the boat. The painter w T as cast off smartly, 
the boat surged aw T ay like a wounded spider, the oars 
moving irregularly, in short, chopping strokes that 
w 7 ere exactly suited for the w 7 ork. 

“Starboard main braces — haul aft the main sheet ! ” 
cried Captain Branksome from the break of the poop ; 
and the crew tailed on to the work briskly, for there 
had been several days of wearisome beating down 
channel, and now the wind was fair. 

Syd hauled mightily on the topgallant brace that 
13 


44 


Sons of the Sea 

was made fast in the mizen rigging, but he was not 
a scientific puller, and somehow the yard would not 
come round, until the third mate came to his assistance 
and showed him how best to utilise his strength. 

As a matter of fact, Syd was feeling distinctly 
uncomfortable in the region of his belt. The ship had 
begun to lift to the first heave of open water; she 
was curtseying now to the run of the combers; there 
was a suggestion of unsteadiness about her decks that 
up till now had been as steady as a rock. Added to 
the sensation of emptiness was one of despondency — 
sea-sickness’s inevitable companion. Syd, seeing the 
pilot boat swing away and disappear as the Cape Horn 
gathered way to the pressure of the good clean wind 
in her canvas, grew acutely aware that seafaring was 
not altogether the romantic and very picturesque career 
he had imagined it to be. 

A good deal had happened between the day of the 
lads’ joining and now. They had been initiated into 
sundry customs of the sea as these affect cadets; they 
had been cut down in their hammocks ; they had been 
sent on totally ridiculous errands to people in high 
authority; they had been rated for their ignorance; 
they had not been complimented for their smartness, 
because in the merchant service compliments are few 
and far between. They had gone ashore in charge of 
Briggs, and they had expended the money which had 
been given to them on a strange assortment of deli- 
cacies, until none of it was left; because, as Briggs 
said, “What’s the use of carrying money to sea with 
you? You can’t spend it there.” Briggs chose .the 
delicacies that he liked best himself, it is to be feared; 
but on the whole the lads had not done so badly. 

They had already come to give themselves airs 


Outward Bound 45 

over three of the cadets who had joined ship the day 
following — youngsters of about fourteen, fresh from 
their mothers’ apron strings. They had been aloft — 
whilst the ship was in port, it is true — and, with much 
trepidation, had reached the royal yard, where they 
sat looking out over Poolhaven and its shipping, 
glorying in the fact that nowhere in sight was there 
a craft to compare with the Cupe Horn . 

Yes, they had done very many things. They had 
made the acquaintance of their eighteen immediate 
shipmates; they had already run foul of the chief mate 
—an awe-inspiring person with a monstrously gruff 
voice, who seemed to have no liking for boys. They 
had learnt that their smart uniforms were more for 
show than real use; ashore, yes, it was de rigueur to 
wear badge caps and brass buttons, but aboard — well, 
there was nothing to prevent them from donning the 
garb, but the work they had to perform was not par- 
ticularly cleanly, and so they found that old clothes 
were much more suitable. 

On the whole they had not suffered any keen dis- 
appointments. They found their new companions as 
mixed as might be expected, but in the main they 
were decent fellows enough, ranging from Briggs, 
aged nineteen, to Fildes, aged thirteen and a half, 
who looked like an angel and spoke like a Billings- 
gate fish-dealer. Chiefly they had found a friend in 
Raymond, the cadet next senior to Briggs, between 
whom and Briggs there existed a complete under- 
standing. Briggs treated Raymond with respect. 
Raymond treated Briggs with tolerant contempt, and 
probably both were happy. 

There was no suggestion of disorderliness aboard 
the Cape Horn now that she was free from the trammels 


46 Sons of the Sea 

of the land. Her decks were white and shining in 
the clear morning sunlight; her hatches were securely 
battened down fore and aft, in readiness for whatever 
might come in the way of bad w r eather. They had 
brought her down-channel under her topgallants, and 
she was clothed to the topgallant masthead in shim- 
mering white, shot across with deep shadows, and the 
gaunt royal yards swung slowly to and fro across an 
arc of the blue sky. She looked a very picture of 
might and beauty ; it seemed a thing incredible that 
she could ever lose her stately grandeur and become 
the plaything of the raging elements. But Syd and 
Roy had listened to stories that had been told in the 
half-deck during the dog-watches, and knew that the 
Cape Horn was quite capable of playing strange pranks. 
They had heard of seas coming aboard that filled the 
shining decks to the top of the bulwarks; they had 
heard of boats crumpled to matchwood, of ventilators 
flattened like tin cans. 

But at the present moment neither of them thought 
much of these things. Syd knew that he was growing 
white; Roy wondered if it would be a criminal thing 
to throw himself overboard and put a period to his 
misery. 

“Here, boy; up aloft and loose the main royal!” 
shouted the mate from where he stood by the wheel. 

Syd started; the command was addressed to him. 
He had been aloft, and he had enjoyed the sensation ; 
but now the royal poles were arching themselves across 
the vault of heaven, the wind was lilting gaily, the 
climb seemed to have increased in danger a hundred- 
fold. Still, he had already learnt a few lessons in 
discipline, and now he started from the poop, with 
uncertain steps, clinging wildly at whatever offered 


Outward Bound 47 

as a handhold. He reached the main sheerpole and 
laid an uncertain hand upon it. 

“Up to windward, youngster!” shouted someone. 

Syd was on the point of committing the grave 
mistake of climbing aloft by the lee side. He stumbled 
across the deck and tried to haul himself to the rail. 
It was useless; his strength seemed to have deserted 
him completely. He tried again, equally in vain. 

“Are you going to be a year? Up aloft, young- 
ster ! ” 

Syd made another despairing effort, and then the 
sea claimed its forfeit. Someone leaped past him into 
the rigging. It was Raymond, and as he began to 
mount, the older lad shouted : 

“Clear out of sight — I’ll go! Stow yourself away; 
you’ll get over it in a bit.” 

Syd crawled away miserably, feeling upon him a 
great desire for dry land; even his guardian’s back 
yard would have served at a pinch. If this was going 
to sea, he thought, the life was a very much over- 
rated one. He had never felt so ill in all his days; 
not even after he had soused into the river after Sammy 
Longstaffe. 

He groped his way blindly to the door of the 
half-deck, tumbled over the sill, and stretched himself 
out on a bench. From a dark corner of the apartment 
came wild groanings; he understood that he was not 
alone in his misery. 

“Who’s that?” came a dismal inquiry. 

Syd replied in a hollow voice. 

“I believe I’m dying,” moaned Roy. “I’m sure 
I’m dying. Ugh!” 

The curtain must descend upon that scene, which 
was purely revolting. There were five new boys who 


4 s Sons of the Sea 

had never been to sea before, and all five paid their 
tribute to Neptune handsomely. 

But meanwhile something was happening on deck. 
Raymond had sprung aloft like a squirrel ; he was a 
strong, handsome lad, worshipped by all the younger 
cadets, well liked, too, by the officers, with the ex- 
ception of the mate, who could not stand boys. There 
had been a mistake in the arrangements when Mr. 
Barker was appointed to the vacant chief officer’s berth. 
Up and up he went, over the futtocks, up the shiver- 
ing topmast rigging, through the cross-trees, and still 
up until he reached the eyes of the topgallant rigging. 
Here it was necessary for him to make a precarious 
climb up the tie of the royal yard — merely a stout 
chain rove through an iron block at the masthead. 
He reached the yard and cast loose the gaskets that 
held the sail in place; the weather side dropped down. 
And as it dropped the wind caught it and flung it 
with tremendous force upwards into the cadet’s face. 
It was a miracle he was not flung from his holding 
and precipitated a matter of a hundred and fifty feet 
or more to the deck. But he was an experienced sailor; 
he clung to the jackstay like a limpet, and roared down 
objurgations to the helmsman. 

Then he passed across to windward and loosed the 
other side of the sail, shouted down to the deck that 
all was in readiness, saw the figures of the watch — 
they looked like toy men moving about a toy ship 
-—tail on to the halliards, and the yard leaped merrily 
upwards. He overhauled the gear and stopped it. 
After a final look round to see that everything was 
to his satisfaction he descended. 

But he did not move away from the deck, and 
sneak below for a surreptitious smoke as he might 


Outward Bound 49 

have done under other circumstances. Instead he walked 
straight aft to the poop, and to the wheel. The man 
who was standing there, steering, looked at him out 
of narrow, short-sighted eyes. 

“The gear is stopped aloft, sir,” reported Raymond 
to the mate, touching his cap. 

“Very good — carry on,” said the mate. 

“I took the liberty of going, sir, instead of Brunton; 
he was seasick.” 

“ Who’s Brunton ? ” 

Neither Raymond nor the mate had noticed that 
the helmsman had started ever so little. 

“A new boy, sir; promises well. But when I was 
on the yard the ship was brought up into the wind, 
and — well, if Brunton had been up there he might have 
been knocked off. I thought I’d better tell you, sir.” 

The mate turned and looked at the helmsman sourly, 
but Forbes had fixed his eyes on the weather clew 
of the main upper topgallant sail. 

“You knew a hand was aloft. Why did you shake 
her?” he demanded sharply. “Take more care with 
your steering, or you and I’ll fall out, my man. That 
will do, Raymond. It was an accident, of course.” 

“I know it was an accident, sir, but I thought it 
best to mention it.” 

Raymond saluted again and went from the poop. 
Forbes scowled savagely into the binnacle. He had 
made his first attempt to fulfil his promise to Mr. 
Carey. It had failed, but there would be many other 
opportunities. He cursed his luck, be sure of that. 
He had not noticed that it was not Syd who had 
gone aloft, and he had deliberately put his helm down 
as soon as he saw a figure hanging on the royal yard, 
hoping that the sudden uplift of the sail would hurl 

E 


50 Sons of the Sea 

the inexperienced lad from his place to a terrible 
death. 

His mistake had earned for him a scolding from 
the mate, and he mentally registered the fact. He 
had another reason now for disposing of Sydney 
Brunton. 

The Cape Horn felt the weight of her added canvas; 
almost as soon as the main royal was filled and 
drawing the fore royal was loosed and set, and now, 
clothed in shimmering white from truck to waterways, 
bending gracefully to the heave and lift of the seas, 
with the rustle of speed sounding aloft and the crisp 
plash of parted water singing a merry song of striving, 
she turned her bow to the open Atlantic and sped 
forth like a thing of light. Smoke-volleying steamers 
appeared hideous by comparison with the white-winged 
fabric; they were an offence to the fairness of the 
day. The wind was on the beam, so that staysails 
were possible of setting, and by the time eight bells 
struck to announce that noon had come, the Cape Horn 
had not an inch of canvas bent that was not in use. 

But her beauty had no interest for our two heroes. 
They were lying in agony in the half-deck, their every 
sense revolting at the smell of food, listening to the 
voices of the port watch cadets who had but newly 
come below to dinner, with ravening appetites. 

“Here, young ’uns, have a plate of pea soup; it’s 
fine and greasy,” said Briggs, passing a kittful of the 
strong-smelling mess beneath their noses. “It will do 
you no end of good.” 

Syd felt at that moment as though nothing would 
give him greater pleasure than to murder Briggs out 
of hand. 

“Tie a bit of pork to a string and make him 


Outward Bound 5* 

swallow it,” suggested another old-timer patronisingly. 
‘‘Pull it up again when it’s down. Do that a few times 
and you’ll soon forget sea-sickness.” 

But Raymond appeared at this moment. Although 
nominally it was his watch on deck, he had been kept 
occupied past his own dinner hour, and now was 
ravenously demanding food. 

“For any sake, let the poor brutes be,” he said. 
“Haven’t you been seasick yourselves? Why, Briggs, 
you were seasick in the Bay coming home last voyage. 
You’ve no cause to give yourself airs. I say, boys, 
no end of a lark. They’ve found a stowaway down 
the forepeak — a boy. What are you dropping the 
grub about like that for, Longstaffe?” 

Sammy Longstaffe, in addition to many other duties, 
served as loblolly boy to the half-deck mess. Hearing 
Raymond’s announcement he had suddenly dropped a 
kittful of salt pork that he had been about to place 
on the table, and was now regarding the elder cadet 
with wide-open eyes and mouth. Sammy had certain 
misgivings in his mind. 

“Says he couldn’t get a billet by trying, so he 
stowed away, because he intended to go to sea, any- 
how,” supplemented Raymond, helping himself to pea 
soup. “His name, so he told the mate, is Harry 
Longton ; seems a likely enough sort of a youngster, 
too.” 

“ What are they going to' do with him ? ” demanded 
an elder boy, Brearly by name. 

“Don’t know. It’s too late to put him ashore, I’m 
afraid. I expect he will be taken on and made to 
work his passage. Pass the pork, will you ? ” 

Sammy Longstaffe dashed the kitt on the table, 
and hurriedly bolted from the half-deck. Straight to 


52 


Sons of the Sea 

the forecastle he ran, and there found the men dis- 
cussing the new feature of the voyage. 

“Sent down to the peak, I were,’’ growled old 
Baker. “The bosun wanted a coil o’ ratline stuff. 

‘ Baker,’ he ses, ‘ fetch it up here.’ So down I goes, 
an’ fust thing I hears is a sort o’ knockin’. Thinks I, 
it’s rats. But rats don’t knock steady an’ constant. 
So I listens, an’ the more I listens the more I thinks 
it’s not rats. Then I thinks it’s ghosts.’’ 

A roar of laughter from the other men of the watch 
below greeted this pronouncement. 

“Laugh if ye like,” grunted the speaker. “I’ve 
sailed deep water man an’ boy for a matter o’ forty- 
two year, me startin’ young, an’ there ain’t anything 
I wouldn’t believe. But ghosts doesn’t shout — not 
that way, nohow. So I looks about, an’ I finds a 
cask o’ tar on the hatch leadin’ to the lower peak, 
an v I shifts it, an' lifts the hatch, an’ up he jumps 
like a bloomin’ Jack-in-the-box, an’ there ye are — a 
stowaway.” 

“Where’s he now?” demanded Sammy eagerly. 

“He’s aft, gettin’ a rope’s-endin’ for all I know. 
I takes him aft, an’ there I leaves him.” 

Sammy was a courageous lad enough under normal 
conditions, and so, without a word, he left the fore- 
castle and ran aft as fast as he could go. He found 
the second mate on the poop together with the third; 
the mate and captain were below working out the 
ship’s position. Sammy touched his cap to the senior 
officer, and inquired breathlessly where the stowaway 
was. 

“He’s down below, youngster. What do you know 
about him? Getting his back stripped for a flogging 
as likely as not. But what are you doing here?” 


Outward Bound 53 

“If you please, sir, I stowed him away ” 

“Well, I’m blessed. He said he stowed himself 
away.” 

“Yes, sir, he’d say that; but I did it. You see, 
Mr. Seymour, sir, the chief officer wouldn’t sign him 
on, but Harry meant to go to sea somehow, so — why, 
sir, there you are.” 

Captain Branksome showed in the companion-way. 
Behind him appeared the mate, towing the disconsolate 
figure of Harry Longton by the ear. Sammy, thinking 
of tragic consequences, darted forward before anyone 
could stop him, and threw himself in the captain’s 
path. 

“Oh, if you please, sir, don’t lick him; lick me,” 
he implored. 

The captain stopped short; an expression of be- 
wilderment crossed his face. 

“And why on earth should I lick you?” he 
asked. 

Sammy drew in a deep breath, his shoulders wrig- 
gled in anticipation of the licking due. He was so 
intently gazing into the captain’s face that he did not 
notice Harry’s grimace. 

“I stowed him away, sir. I’ll take the licking,” 
he said. “It was my fault. I persuaded him to stow 
away.” 

“I thought it all out, out o’ my own head, sir,” 
said Harry stoutly. “He didn’t do it. I don’t know 
him.” 

The captain looked from one to the other with 
perplexity. 

“There’s some sort of lying going on,” he said. 
“I don’t understand it. But I think, Mr. Barker, to 
be on the safe side we should flog them both.” 


54 Sons of the Sea 

‘‘That’s true, sir. I remember this whelp coming 
and asking me to sign him on. I refused, of course.” 

‘‘I’ll take the two lickings, sir,” said Sammy 
stoutly. “It was my fault. I persuaded him to come 
to sea; give me his share, too, sir.” 

“I’ve a jolly good mind to,” said Captain Brank- 
some. “You deserve it, but whilst not admiring your 
actions, I must say your pluck is all right. Well, 
well, we can’t stop now to put this boy ashore; we’ll 
have to take him with us. Away forward, both of 
you; and you, boy” — he turned to Sammy — “are 
responsible for him.” 

The lads needed no further bidding; they clattered 
down the lee ladder of the poop, and shot forward 
like two hares. Sammy retrieved a “whack” of food 
for his chum; he found an unoccupied berth in the 
eyes of the forecastle; and within twenty-four hours 
Harry Longton was accepted as a regular member of 
the Cape Horn's crew. Harry was not seasick — the 
only one of the novices to claim that distinction. 


CHAPTER V 

The First Gale and a Treacherous Deed 

The Cape Horn swung clear of soundings and struck 
away for the open Atlantic. Twenty-four hours’ grace 
was given to the new hands in which to recover from 
the prostrating effects of mal de mer; after that they 
were summoned on deck and compelled to bear a part 
in the work that was going forward. The keen salt 
air did more to dispel Syd’s and Roy’s qualms than the 
somewhat stuffy atmosphere of the half-deck, and 
though, a day and a night after they were turned-to, 
the weather began to alter, they never again knew what 
sea-sickness was. They had been through the mill and 
were cured. But with one or two of the other young- 
sters it was different. They not only took a long time 
to recover ; they also suffered frequently on other 
occasions. 

The first thing Syd did on finding his sea-legs — 
he blessed Sammy Longstaffe’s advice to procure 
rubber boots when he saw Briggs, who stuck to leather 
footwear, rush like a rocket to leeward and fetch up 
against the bulwarks with an astonishing bang — was 
to ask the second mate’s permission to go aloft. Both 
Syd and Roy had been placed in the second officer’s 
watch ; a cause for congratulation, needless to say, for 
aboard a sailing ship it is possible for two men to be 
in different watches and never, or hardly ever, obtain 

55 


56 Sons of the Sea 

an opportunity of speaking to each other so long as 
the ship is at sea. Raymond was chief of the cadets 
of the starboard watch, and a better chief could not 
have been desired. 

“Want to go aloft, Brunton ? It’s breezing up a 
bit, remember, and she’s throwing herself about.” 

“I’d like to have a shot at it, if you don’t mind, 
sir,” said Syd respectfully. 

“Well, away you go! Here, Halliday, you keen 
on going aloft?” 

Roy was seated on the after hatch, assisting an 
A.B. to tuck an eyesplice in a five-inch rope. The 
sailor could have done the work equally well himself, 
but the boys were instructed in their duties by the 
simple means of first showing them what was to be 
done, and then making them do it for themselves. 

“I’d like to go, sir,” said Roy, starting up. 

“Raymond.” The elder cadet of the watch was 
working hard on the poop, sewing at a split royal. 
“Raymond, take these youngsters up the mizen and 
show them how to overhaul the gear.” 

Raymond threw down his palm and needle, and 
moved towards the rigging. The boys followed him, 
and as they climbed in his wake from the shelter of 
the rail, they felt the wind pin them almost solidly 
to the shrouds. 

“Remember two things in going aloft,” said Ray- 
mond. “One hand for yourself and one for the owners 
— that’s the sea maxim. And don’t let go with one 
hand till you’ve got a grip with the other. There’s 
another thing. Do not, under any consideration, grip 
the ratlines. Hold on by the shrouds.” He illustrated 
his meaning. “If the ratline breaks— and it’s only 
thin line at the best, seized on with marline — you’re 


The First Gale 57 

overboard before you know where you are. But the 
shroud won’t break. Now, up you come.” 

It was not really difficult, once they were fairly 
under way, although to negotiate the futtocks re- 
quired some exertion and presence of mind. The 
ship’s motion was very much more pronounced up aloft 
here even than down on deck; and to climb backwards 
at an angle of forty-five degrees, holding to rattling 
iron rods which were cold and slippery, required forti- 
tude of a considerable degree. But they passed over 
the futtocks, and soon they were standing, a little 
breathless, indeed, in the mizentop. Here they paused 
at Raymond’s behest, and looking down they were 
able to see the Cape Horn as they had never seen her 
before. From either side of her a crisp white-topped 
wave curled away, flinging radiant clouds of spray all- 
whither; astern the wake stretched like a straight white 
lane to the remote horizon. The poop beneath was a- 
glitter with polished brass ; the planking was white and 
sparkling. Before them and above arched the rounded 
cavern of the mizen topsail; above, piling high in 
pyramids of power, the topgallant sail showed, merging 
with the royal, and culminating in the swinging pole, 
with its wind-vane streaming out like a bar of steel. 
They could see the main deck, occupied by moving 
active figures, they could see Briggs seated on the 
coamings of the half-deck door, smoking a thoughtful 
pipe; they could see everything there was to be seen, 
indeed, particularly a big German five-masted sailing 
ship homeward bound, roaring through the lashing 
waves like a steamer, carrying every stitch of canvas 
she possessed, even to skysails — a monument of power. 

“Nitrate ship, homeward bound from the West 
Coast,” explained Raymond. “.Valparaiso to the Lizard 


58 


Sons of the Sea 

in fifty-seven days is their record. But they’re under 
water for the most part. Up we go again.” They 
mounted the shaking topmast rigging, and the wind 
seemed determined to suck them from their holding; 
but a lad aloft for the first few times is very careful 
against misadventure. So they reached the crosstrees, 
and climbed out on the upper topgallant yard, which 
rocked and jerked unpleasantly. For one wild moment 
Syd had visions of sea-sickness ; he imagined what would 
happen if his old affliction overcame him up there. He 
must drop — there was no earthly chance of holding on. 
But the fear fled; the keen wind purged him of his 
last touch of sickness, and he was able to attend to 
Raymond’s instructions. 

Roy and Syd were shown how to overhaul the spill- 
ing lines, which haul the sail tight against the yard 
when the time comes to furl it, and which must be 
allowed to run slack when the canvas is set, lest they 
should chafe through the cloths and ruin the sail; and 
when sufficient slack hung beneath the foot of the royal, 
were shown how to stop the ropes with thin threads of 
twine to prevent their running back. 

“ Why not make a sound job of it ? ” asked Roy. “ I 
mean, why not rack them tightly with stronger twine; 
that will break as soon as there’s a pull on it ? ” 

“That’s just what it’s meant to do,” said Raymond. 
“When there’s a blow on you want to get sail in a 
hurry, and you don’t want to go climbing aloft with a 
knife to cut the stops, do you ? You’ll learn after a bit 
there’s a reason for almost everything at sea, if you 
can only find it. Some of them take a lot of finding, 
I’ll admit.” 

He explained many details to them there in the 
cross-trees, and the two chums had good cause to con- 


59 


The First Gale 

gratulate themselves that they were in the second mate’s 
watch, rather than the mate’s. Fancy if Bully Briggs 
were the superior — Bully Briggs who, now that the 
ship was fairly at sea, was, so rumour had it, beginning 
to make himself obnoxious in more ways than one ! 

They went down to the deck again, and because the 
rule of the Cape Horn was that idling bred discontent, 
they were set to work afresh. There were many tasks 
to be performed, and as the owners of the sailing ship 
knew that the average boy is capable of doing almost a 
man’s work, they had cut down the crew forward to its 
lowest limits. There was no fancy-work about the 
training aboard the Cape Horn, as there is aboard some 
school-ships. The boys were required to take part and 
lot in everything that was doing, from scrubbing decks 
• — a task they enjoyed well enough, for a little skylark- 
ing was always permitted before the skipper appeared 
on deck — to polishing the brasswork and going aloft 
to make or take in sail. 

Technically the cadets were required to look after the 
mizen mast in every detail ; but as twenty boys were not 
needed for this work, it was no unusual thing for some 
of them to be sent up forward and on the mainmast. 
Syd was dispatched, as soon as he reached the deck, 
for a palm and needle from the sailmaker, and the 
second officer gave him a lesson in whipping a rope’s 
end, to prevent it fraying. 

“Now, take a skein of twine and whip every rope 
you see needs it,” said Seymour. Syd felt delighted 
with the responsibility of the task, and made haste to 
perform it; later he was instructed into the mysteries 
of splicing, and making some of the simpler knots. It 
was all amazingly interesting, and the watch had lied 
before he realised it was even four bells. 


6o 


Sons of the Sea 

It was the starboard watch’s eight hours out — that 
is to say, they would be on deck from eight p.m. to 
midnight, and again from four to eight a.m. There- 
fore they were allowed below at midday, and regaled 
themselves on the plentiful food that was provided for 
them. Sammy Longstaffe ministered to their immediate 
needs, so far as carrying the food from the galley to 
the half-deck, but beyond that the cadets were required 
to do everything for themselves. They must wash 
their eating utensils; they must replace them in their 
appointed lockers; they must clear up the wreck, as 
Raymond put it, before being at liberty to turn in and 
snatch what sleep they could prior to four o’clock, when 
the first dog-watch began. 

When the boys turned out at four, they found the 
wind increasing considerably. It had shifted to the 
south-west, and already the Cape Horn was tumbling 
about unpleasantly on the cross sea that was running. 
But as the breeze was not altogether foul Captain Brank- 
some had not shortened sail to any great degree ; merely 
contenting himself with taking in the fore royal and 
the mizen royal, and the upper fore-and-afters. At 
five o’clock a bit of a squall broke down on the 
speeding ship. 

“Clew up the main royal,” was the immediate order, 
and Roy and Syd, together with the other youngsters 
of their watch, flew to the clewlines. The halliards were 
let go, the yard rumbled down, and four boys leaped 
into the rigging. Syd started to follow, but was 
checked by Raymond, who acted as a kind of un- 
qualified fourth mate. 

“Time enough to go up when you’ve had more 
practice; which sounds like never going into the water 
until you can swim,” said the senior lad. “We’ll be 


The First Gale 61 

shortening down more before long, and then you can 
try your luck.” 

And sure enough, his prediction was speedily ful- 
filled. For the squall was but the herald of a fierce 
gale; the Cape Horn was by now drawing near to the 
outskirts of the Bay of Biscay. 

“I’d like to try my hand at furling sail,” said Roy, 
as the two lads crouched to leeward of the half-deck, 
sheltering from the hissing sprays that occasionally 
broke aboard to keep up the Cape Horn’s reputation 
of being a dirty ship. “I’ve a jolly good mind to 
go aloft when the next call comes.” Soon after 
five o’clock the captain came on deck, and observing 
the dismal appearance of the weather, confided to 
the second mate his intention of snugging down 
for the night. 

“We’ll make it an all hands’ job,” he said, “and do 
it smartly, navy-style, you know. Pass the word, ‘ All 
hands shorten sail.’ Get her down to her topsails and 
foresail.” The word went bellowing along the decks, 
and forecastle and half-deck disgorged their contents 
of humanity. There was a rush of orderly activity, 
every man seemed to know his place and work, all save 
the latest-joined cadets, that is, who got into every- 
body’s way, and were thrust aside with but scant cere- 
mony. The upper topgallantsails on all three masts 
came down simultaneously; the cro’jack was hauled up, 
and the rigging grew alive with speeding men. The 
cadets flocked to the mizen, and, as there were more 
sails to be handled there, were not required to assist 
the men forward. But Roy and Syd, together with 
the other three youngsters, were detected as they 
made for the rails, and Captain Branksome ordered 
them back. 


62 


Sons of the Sea 

“Stay on deck, clear up the gear,” he shouted. 
“We can’t have any of you youngsters losing the 
number of your mess.” 

They contented themselves with obeying orders; but 
almost as soon as they had commenced a still more 
furious squall beat down on the ship. There was a 
cracking and straining aloft, a very roar of striving; 
the fabric heeled convulsively and licked the top of a 
green wave over her lee rail. Syd, up to his knees in 
water, floundered wildly about, clutching at anything 
his fingers would grasp ; Roy slid incontinently be- 
neath a spar and lay there for a moment with the 
breath knocked out of him. 

“Haul up the mainsail ! ” came the thunderous cry 
from the poop, and the second mate charged along the 
deck. The idlers — the carpenter, the cook and steward, 
the sailmaker and a few unconsidered details — at once 
set to work, assisted by men who trooped down from 
aloft ; the main tack was let go, the clew flew high in the 
air ; a cheery chorus was raised and the weather sail was 
quietened. The lee side followed suit. 

“Up aloft and furl it,” shouted the second mate, 
leading the way in person. “Come up here, all of 
you.” Syd held back for a moment, until he remem- 
bered his guardian’s mandate — to be ready in emer- 
gency. He started for the rail, and someone behind 
him gave him a vigorous hoist. 

“Who’s that? ” asked the one behind. 

“Brunton,” gasped Syd breathlessly, as a spray cut 
him in the teeth. He had neither donned oilskins nor 
seaboots as yet; he was wet and chilled. 

“Up you go, my son; smart’s the word, my suck- 
ing Nelson.” Syd found himself lifted to the sheerpole, 
and before he knew what was happening he was claw- 


The First Gale 63 

ing a shaky way up the reeling shrouds. The wind 
up here blew with terrific force; it was choking, it 
pinned him to the rigging. Someone up above him 
trod violently on his knuckles; the lad yelled with the 
pain, but a fierce and burning desire sprang to life in 
his heart. This was real sailorizing; this was what 
was meant by going to sea. He’d show them that he 
wasn’t a funk. 

“That’s the way, my son — sharp’s the word and 
quick’s the action.” 

It was Forbes, the A.B., close at his elbow. Forbes 
had seen that here was an opportunity of earning his 
promised reward. It was almost dark, a half-gale at 
the least was blowing; if a lad happened to slip from 
the yard no one would be one jot the wiser until it was 
too late to succour him. 

So he cheered Syd up the rigging until the lad be- 
came aware that a thunderous mass of spray-wet canvas 
was volleying close at hand; he could hear the sound 
of the second mate’s voice, roaring to the men to 
windward. 

“Out to leeward; there’s more room there,” said 
Forbes. “Swing across, my hearty — that’s the ticket.” 
How he did it Syd did not know, but somehow he 
crossed from starboard to port, and found the braced-up 
mainyard close at hand. 

“Away you go — light ones to the yardarm,” shouted 
Forbes ; and without his own volition the lad was forced 
out on the jerking footrope. He clung to the jackstay 
like a maniac, or like a drowning man at a straw, bear- 
ing in mind Raymond’s advice. The heaving and 
jumping of the yard were fearful, the sail was blown 
into his face, it threatened to snatch him to death. A 
rope whipped out of the gloom and struck him a sharp 


64 Sons of the Sea 

blow in the eyes, and the pain aroused once more that 
fighting fury. Careless of consequences, not heeding 
the force of the wind now, only intent on reducing that 
vast bellying mass of canvas to quietude, Syd bore out 
towards the lee yardarm, and in his wake came Forbes, 
the man who had promised that he should never com- 
plete this voyage. 

“Grapple it — let’s show what we can do, before the 
others come out,” boomed Forbes, as Syd reached 
out for the sail. He snatched a handful and drew it 
in, he crowded it beneath his chest, the wind snatched it 
away again; but Syd caught it afresh. At his side 
Forbes worked lustily, shouting and sprawling over the 
yard; once his booted foot kicked Syd’s with consider- 
able force; but the lad named it for an accident, and 
contrived to retain his hold. 

“So, we’ve got some of it now — pass that gasket,” 
commanded the sailor. “That’s it— cast it adrift, my 
son — look alive.” Syd found that a hank of light rope 
had somehow got into his hand; he managed to throw 
it adrift, with difficulty; and then found himself con- 
fronted with a problem. What to do with the gasket 
he did not know; but Forbes was very ready to supply 
the information. 

“Down on the footrope and heave it up to me, my 
lad. Keep in front of the yard — I’ll hold on here.” Syd 
crept down to the footrope, clutching at a stirrup, as 
the weight of men working in towards the bunt caused 
the wire rope to jerk and leap like an angry horse. He 
swung above a roaring abyss, from its bottom there 
beat upwards the sibilant hiss of the wind-lashed sea. 
His cap was snatched from his head and disappeared 
into the darkness; as he clutched at it he almost lost 
his hold. But he did not feel any fear — he was enough 


The First Gale 6 5 

of a born sailor to realise that so long as he had his 
hands to aid him he was fairly safe. 

“Up with that gasket,” shouted Forbes. Syd man- 
aged by an effort to throw the rope up the foreside of 
the yard; a moment later it was passed into his hand 
again. 

“Haul on it — haul for all you’re worth.” He did 
not see Forbes reach round to the back of his belt; he 
did not see the keen-edged Green River knife drawn 
from its sheath. In his ignorance he hauled hard at the 
rope, for no one had told him that a gasket was too 
frail a thing to trust one’s life to. And since the gasket 
seemed secure, in obedience to Forbes’s command he 
threw his weight on it, leaning back. Forbes leaned 
over the yard and drew the keen edge of his sheath 
knife across the tautened line. 

Syd felt himself hurling backwards wildly; he 
clutched at something, but it eluded his fingers; he let 
out a yell that the wind snatched up and bore mock- 
ingly away; and with none to mark the manner of his 
passing Sydney dashed down through roaring space 
like a stone. 

“Earned my pay, that’s a sure thing,” said Forbes, 
resheathing his knife. “He’s gone, right enough. 
Lord! I’ll never forget that yell, though.” And he 
wormed out on the footrope to make sure the lad was 
gone. 

Yes, Sydney Brunton had disappeared. An 
ignorant lad aloft, parted from anything stable by / 
which he might hold on, does not stand much of a 
chance of life. He shot downwards helplessly, the sea 
rushed up to meet him, the chill waters closed over 
his head. 


F 


CHAPTER VI 

Baulked 


It was well for Syd Brunton that he had been working 
on the lee yardarm, rather than the weather; had the 
latter been the case his death must simply have been 
a matter of seconds. He must have been flung to the 
deck beneath and smashed hopelessly; but as it was 
he was overhanging the sea at the moment Forbes made 
his dastardly attempt ; and as the lad hurled downwards 
the Cape Horn gave a savage lee roll which further 
simplified matters. Syd missed the hull and dashed 
beneath the surface of the stormy sea like a duck. 

But a second afterwards he was on the surface, spit- 
ting the acrid salt out of his mouth and striking out, 
quite naturally, with hands and feet. He was, as has 
been shown, an excellent swimmer, and not by any 
means a smooth-water man ; he had trained himself to 
swim the river at home when it was at its wildest, and 
now he had the extra buoyancy of sea-water to assist 
him. And his next instinct, once he was assured that 
he was not dead, was to yell out at the top of his voice 
for help. 

He was totally unaware of what had actually hap- 
pened. All he knew was that he had pulled hard on a 
rope, that the rope had parted, that he had dropped 
down through echoing space; but his mind had no 
suspicion of the treachery that had been practised. 

65 


Baulked 6 7 

Then fear came to him — he could see the bulk of 
the Cape Horn show like a blot not very far away; the 
ship was hugging the wind and her way was almost a 
negligible quantity. He shouted again with all his 
might, and the wind tore his voice from his lips mock- 
ingly. But he persevered, swimming strongly in the 
intervals between his shouts. 

The water was cold, and it appeared to be growing 
still colder ; the shock of his fall had robbed him of some 
of his strength ; it became increasingly difficult to lift his 
face above the wave-tops as he rose and sank to their 
boisterous play. 

“It can’t be that I’m going to die ! ” he said, tasting 
real fear for perhaps the first time in his life. “It can’t 
be. Help ! help ! ” 

On the Cape Horn’s poop Captain Branksome and 
the chief officer were discussing the state of the weather. 
The air above their heads was full of the voice of storm ; 
men working aloft cried and bellowed; sails slammed 
wildly to create a veritable pandemonium of sound. 
But it sometimes happens that a quite slight sound 
beats it way through an undercurrent of frantic noise; 
and the man at the wheel turned suddenly to stare to 
leeward. 

He saw a great swirl of tormented foam that was 
created by the Cape Horn’s wild motions; he fancied 
he saw something else: a patch of blackness. There 
was just the possibility that it might be an empty can 
thrown overboard by the cook; but, on the other 
hand 

He acted on a swift impulse; and snatching a life- 
buoy from its beckets on the taffrail, he hurled it 
outboard towards the patch of blackness. And 
once more he heard the shrill wail of affright. That 


68 Sons of the Sea 

settled him — this was no piece of refuse or a strayed 
seabird. 

“ Man overboard ! ” he roared at the top of his voice, 
and slammed the helm hard down. Captain Brank- 
some and Mr. Barker turned aft with one common 
accord and raced towards the wheel. 

“What’s that?” 

“Man overboard, sir.” Holding the wheel down 
with one hand the man pointed out astern ; and sure 
enough, in the midst of the whirl of spray, the dark 
spot showed ; at the same moment another cry — but this 
time a wavering one — cut through the uproar. 

“Lay aft, lay aft ! ” boomed Mr. Barker through his 
funnelled hands. The cadets were already tumbling 
down from the mizen, having done their work up aloft ; 
and now, as they touched the deck, they were hustled 
towards the lee quarterboat. Unlike many a merchant 
vessel the Cape Horn’s boats were kept in almost man- 
o’-warlike perfection, and now all that was to be done 
consisted in throwing off the canvas cover, hauling tight 
the tackles and thrusting the craft outboard. 

The third mate plunged aft like a runaway bull as 
the frail craft was made ready. 

“Man overboard,” grunted Mr. Barker. “Call for 
volunteers.” But there was no need. A dozen volun- 
teered at once, and the majority of them were boys. It 
spoke well for the courage of the Cape Horn’s comple- 
ment. And as the boat was filled with eager humanity, 
a bright flame lit up the surface of the darkened sea. 
The calcium light attached to the buoy had begun its 
work, and that flame served two purposes. It well- 
nigh blinded Syd Brunton, struggling desperately in 
the foam; it served as a guide to those willing hearts 
in the boat, that, shipping water by the bucketful as 


Baulked 69 

it streamed away from the ship’s side, danced purpose- 
fully over the waves. And it did more. For Syd was 
nearly spent, at the end of his tether, aware that death 
was gripping at his throat. Then the light flashed on 
his senses, he understood vaguely that he was not to 
die alone and uncared for; this was a proof that some- 
one had seen his plight. He found a fresh wave of 
strength surge through him ; he gave a few more power- 
ful strokes; the light was more blinding than ever 
before ; and then his hands touched a smooth, cold sur- 
face, to which they clung like limpets, and he realised 
that for the time being he was safe. 

Guided by the shining light, the boat swept promptly 
to the rescue, eager muscles working their hardest. 
Almost before the truth of his safety had penetrated to 
Syd’s brain, the crash of oars sounded in his ears, a 
loud, cheering hail beat through the clamour of wind 
and sea, hands were outstretched to aid. 

“In you come,” gasped the third mate, who had 
himself been a cadet not long before. “No weather for 
bathing exercise, this.” Syd collapsed in a heap on 
the bottom-boards, too weak, now that the need for effort 
was over, to care much whether he lived or died ; and in 
this condition he was lifted aboard the Cape Horn, 
hurried down to the saloon, wrapped in blankets, and 
generally subjected to such vigorous treatment that 
by next morning ho was none the worse. 

But he was kept aft, and before breakfast Captain 
Branksome and the chief officer held a little informal 
inquiry. 

“I don’t know how it happened, sir,” said Syd 
promptly. “I went aloft and was helping to furl the 
mainsail, when a rope I had hold of broke, and down 
I went.” 


70 


Sons of the Sea 

“What sort of a rope?” inquired the mate gruffly. 
“A gasket, sir.” Mr. Barker grunted again. 
“Anyone who wasn’t a fool would know not to trust 
to a gasket. Well, it will teach you a lesson.” 

“Just remember that, Brunton, in future,” supple- 
mented the captain. “There are some ropes aloft which 
it is perfectly safe to cling to, others are dangerous. 
So you were up aloft last night, eh ? Not so bad for a 
first voyager, eh, Mr. Barker — not so bad? ” 

“Oh, Brunton ’s showing himself smart enough; 
so’s Halliday,” said the chief, a man who seldom 
praised, but who was very ready with blame. “Those 
other youngsters aren’t any account; but — well, since 
he’s none the worse he’d better be sent to breakfast.” 

Syd was allowed to don his now dried clothing, and 
willingly enough he left the saloon. Eight bells had 
sounded a moment or two before he quitted the sanctum 
sanctorum ; and as he crossed the quarter-deck to reach 
his own quarters, he met Forbes face to face. The A.B. 
gave a sudden start, his face turned white beneath its 
tan. Syd did not notice this, he was too intent on 
reaching breakfast to worry about such trifles ; but 
Sammy Longstaffe, emerging from the cabin door with 
the week’s ration of butter for the half-deck, saw the 
change that came over his countenance, and wondered 
at its significance. 

Forbes recovered almost immediately from his per- 
turbation ; he walked on to the poop and relieved the 
wheel ; but when the other man had gone the new-comer 
lifted his sou’-wester from his head and drew a hand 
that trembled somewhat across his forehead, which was 
wet with something beside spray. 

“Lord! he’s going to take some killing,” he mut- 
tered. “I got a start, I did, when I saw him— might 


Baulked 7 1 

have been a ghost. Well, there’ll be other chances — 
many a dark night yet, down the Easting, say; and 
if a man gets a hit with a belaying-pin, no one’s to 
blame. I wonder if he thinks there’s anything 
wrong ? ” 

He congratulated himself on having so worked with 
the cut end of the gasket that had proved Syd’s undoing 
that no one could tell that it had not been broken 
ordinarily; the other end would naturally have been lost 
overboard when the lad fell. But if Forbes had seen 
Sammy Longstaffe draw a piece of rope from a litter of 
cordage beneath the spare spar on the lee side of the 
main deck a few minutes later, and if he had known 
that the end of that rope showed a clean cut, he might 
have felt a certain amount of discomposure. 

Sammy was not a new hand; he knew something 
about breaking ropes. Under normal conditions such 
a find would not have troubled him in the least; the 
piece of broken stuff would have been shoved into the 
shakings’ bag and forgotten; but Sammy had noticed 
Forbes’ sudden change of manner when he saw Syd in 
the flesh ; he knew that Syd had fallen from aloft, owing 
to the breaking of a gasket, and he put two and two 
together. But as he had no wish to pose as an alarmist 
he said no word of his discovery to a single human 
being, not even to Harry Longton, who was settling 
down very well to his new existence. 

“If that’s how you start your sea-life, goodness 
knows how you’re going to end it,” said Raymond, as 
Syd entered the half-deck and gazed hungrily at the 
mess-kitts. “You haven’t done so badly for a start.” 

“You got an all-night-in for one thing,” said Roy 
Halliday, diving into a marmalade tin with a predatory 
spoon. “Think yourself no end lucky, I suppose?” 


7 2 


Sons of the Sea 

“Think myself no end hungry,” retorted Syd. “And 
when you’ve finished stuffing yourself you might as 
well let someone else have a go.” 

But though the two chums passed off the matter as 
a joke, both knew that it had a serious side. A glance 
of real affection had passed from eye to eye as Syd 
entered the place; that was all, but he was aware Roy 
had tasted many terrors when he knew that it was Syd 
who had been drawn so near to death. 

“You hadn’t any real business up aloft in a blow 
like that,” said Raymond, as breakfast proceeded. 
“New hands are supposed to stay down below and look 
on. Not but what it was the right thing to do, young 
’un; a man can’t learn his job by standing with his 
hands in his pockets and putting a kink in his neck by 
looking aloft. But next time you feel inclined to play 
tricks with yourself that way, tell me, and I’ll stand by 
in case of accidents.” 

After that the matter was almost forgotten. Risk 
is a part of the sailor’s daily life ; and even such a 
narrow shave as Syd’s aroused wonder for no more than 
a few hours. Every man aboard the Cape Horn was 
well aware that Syd’s peril might be his own at any 
minute of every day; and men who walk constantly 
face to face with death forget to fear the dread destroyer. 

It had been a somewhat stormy night, but the new 
day was stormier still. The Cape Horn had entered 
the Bay of Biscay, that is never twice in the same 
humour. To-day the Bay had put on her most frown- 
ing aspect, and the light gave full effect to the stormy 
scene. 

The ship was head-reaching under her topsails and 
foresail, her yards were braced sharp forward, and 
she was fully living up to her reputation of being a 


Baulked 73 

dirty ship. Almost every wave that swung towards her 
drowned her; her decks were swept repeatedly, so that 
to walk from aft forward was a matter of considerable 
difficulty. Water slopped against the half-deck door 
and entered the apartment, the floor was w r et and filthy, 
the ship’s uneasy motion caused pannikins and plates 
to slide from the table and come to a chaotic rest on the 
floor beneath the bunks. But good humour reigned 
amongst the denizens of the half-deck ; this was nothing 
but a bit of a blow ; it would soon be over, and the ship 
would be sailing gaily through the sun-kissed waters 
of the tropics. So let her rip, was Raymond’s sugges- 
tion ; and the Cape Horn ripped, smothering herself at 
every heave. 

Owing to the precautions taken at nightfall there 
had been no “All hands ” work during the night, and 
the cadets had not been robbed of their sleep ; but Roy 
Halliday was capable of sleeping in any position, and 
although he was flung about his hammock wildly he 
was snoring almost before Syd had finished his meal. 
Raymond showed no disposition to turn into his bunk, 
and as Syd had benefited by his all-night-in, the 
elder cadet took the opportunity to engage him in 
conversation. 

“I can’t think yet how you came down from the 
mainyard,” he said, darning away thoughtfully at a 
none too clean sock. Sailing ships — not even ships of 
the Cape Horn's stamp — do not carry laundries and 
sempstresses, and the cadets must either do their own 
mending or hand it over to the men forward. “I told 
you to keep one hand for yourself and one for the 
owners ” 

“I was pulling at the gasket as hard as I could,” 
explained Syd. “And it broke — that’s all I know.” 


74 


Sons of the Sea 

“Let me catch you trusting yourself to a gasket 
again, and I’ll rope’s end you,” said Raymond. “Re- 
member that — I’m twice your size and I can do it.” 

“No more gaskets for me, thanks,” said Syd, wrig- 
gling his shoulders as if in anticipation of the promised 
licking. “I’ll not trust to anything smaller than a 
shroud now.” Raymond laughed and went on with his 
darning. 

“Although at times you have to take legitimate 
risks,” he said a moment or two later, “like Mr. Sey- 
mour, for instance. I saw him once climb to the royal 
masthead and shin down the lift to get outside the sail. 
Not one man in ten would have dared to do it — but 
he said it had to be done. There’s a time to leave risks 
alone, and a time to take them. Besides, what would 
your people have said if you’d never gone home?” 

“They wouldn’t have cared much; I haven’t any real 
people,” said Syd a trifle woefully, perhaps. “Only a 
guardian who hated me until he allowed me to go to 
sea, and his wife, who hates me more than he does. 
My father’s dead — he was lost in the Chesapeake ; she 
never turned up. He was a passenger aboard her, and 
— well, there you are. My mother died when I was 
born.” 

“Even so you don’t need to break your neck. But 
I’ll take you in hand a bit now, and give you a thorough 
gruelling aloft. You only need a bit of practice to 
make you as good as a man.” 

Syd, being but a human boy, preened himself vastly 
at hearing this tribute of praise, and quite naturally 
began to think that he was shaping very well as a sailor. 
But he was to receive many a sound lesson as time 
went on as to his youthfulness and inexperience, and 
one such lesson was not long in coming. 


Baulked 75 

But that shall be told in its place. 

At eight bells (noon) Syd and Roy, together with 
the other cadets of the starboard watch, went on deck, 
to find the Cape Horn storming mightily through a very 
inferno of elemental wrath. The sky was shut in by 
clouds of a livid steely colour, that drooped in ragged 
fringes clean down to the angry sea. Look where you 
might was nothing but storm and stress; waves cas- 
caded aboard with monotonous regularity ; and to reach 
the poop it was necessary to wade waist deep in swirling 
water. Syd had donned sea-boots and oilskins, but even 
with these protections he was uncomfortably wet before 
reaching the comparative dryness of the poop. 

But having reached that eminence he stood breath- 
less and appalled at the majestic wonder of the picture 
presented by the Cape Horn . She was shortened down 
to her topsails, as has been said, and her gaunt, denuded 
spars seemed twice their normal size. The narrow strips 
of wet-blackened canvas that ran across the topmasts 
seemed ludicrously trivial to aid her in any way; the 
bellowing force of the wind seemed to drive them out 
horizontally, although their chain sheets were hauled 
doubly taut. Forward, the foresail arched powerfully 
over the forecastle head, and the flying sprays beat upon 
it with never-ceasing persistence, as though determined 
to drag it from its holding and fling it, a tattered mass 
of rags, to become the sport of the rioting winds. There 
was a rag of head-canvas set in the shape of the fore 
topmast staysail, but so infinitesimal did it appear that 
one must look twice ere realising that the sail was there. 

Back and forward swung the gaunt masts, the poles 
striking wide arcs across the evil-omened sky. The 
force of the wind was now enormous ; it was like a solid 
thing, crushing men flat. To walk erect was an im- 


7 6 Sons of the Sea 

possibility : men clawed at whatever holding they could 
reach and clung to it feverishly, until the ship hurled 
herself for a moment to an even keel ; then they broke 
away and made staggering runs for other aids, tacking 
from rail to hatch-coaming, from pump to winch. Syd, 
crouched up to leeward of the teakwood chart-house, 
rejoicing in the mad striving, saw Briggs hesitate at 
the top of the poop ladder ere committing himself to the 
precarious safety of the quarter-deck. But there was 
no royal road to the cadets’ quarters; the seething ugli- 
ness of that pit must be crossed. Briggs must have 
thought of his dinner, it is to be presumed, for clapping 
his sou’-wester firmly on his head, he literally took a 
dive down the ladder. He gained the deck as the ship 
swung to leeward; he made a spidery run across to the 
corner of the after-hatch, and as he clung there for one 
moment the Cape Horn flung up her lee side with mad 
abandon, dipped her weather side under and lifted a 
hundred tons of the Atlantic aboard. 

The wave fell with the smashing roar of a thunder- 
clap, and when Syd next looked Briggs was floundering 
in the scuppers, clawing at loose ropes, that slid through 
his fingers; losing his grip of them and being flung 
back, striving anew for footing and never finding it. 
His face was a picture of amazement when it could be 
seen; his mouth was wide open like the mouth of a 
landed fish, his eyes seemed likely to start from their 
head. 

But he contrived to fetch a tack across the deck; 
crawling on hands and knees, he snatched at the foot 
of the ladder that led to the top of the half-deck, and 
swung there like a sack in a breeze. Then the door 
opened, precisely at the fraction of a second that wit- 
nessed the inrush of another mighty wave, and Briggs 


Baulked 77 

disappeared in foam and spray. The half-deck door 
swung to with a crash, only to open a moment later, to 
give a view of Sammy Longstaffe energetically baling 
the apartment out with a butter tin. 

“That clumsy brute’s swamped the place,” shouted 
Raymond. “He ought to be jolly well kicked.” 

Syd and Roy clung to the lashings that had been 
passed round the chart-house cover, swaying to the 
ship’s restless motion, laughing at the sprays that shot 
across the deck and cut them sharply in the teeth. They 
were quite happy : this, they would have it, was the 
only life for men. They saw the great bulk of the 
Cape Horn made a plaything by the waves ; treated as 
if it were of no more account than a cork, and fear 
stood sternly aloof from them. They looked aft, to 
see the stern squattering in a disorderly tumult of foam ; 
to see the double wheel outlined against the sky; to 
see the stolid figures of the two helmsmen, and the oil- 
skin-clad figure of the second mate, balancing himself 
lightly, one hand on the binnacle cover, and seldom 
taking his eyes from the sails. 

Then they turned their gaze to the main deck again, 
and saw Sammy Longstaffe protrude his head from the 
half-deck door. They saw him measure his chance and 
leap swiftly forth, closing the door behind him, and 
race to leeward. He was bound for the galley to fetch 
the port watch’s food, and he had no enviable task. A 
moment later the door opened again — to give vent to 
Summers, a second-voyage cadet, who disappeared in 
Sammy’s wake. 

Syd and Roy slipped away from the shelter of the 
chart-house and brought up in the mizen rigging, from 
which position they could command a view of the 
entire deck. Clinging there they saw Sammy and 


7 8 Sons of the Sea 

Summers leave the galley, hugging to their breasts the 
kitts of soup and meat for the cadets. Summers made 
an active sprint and reached the lee of the half-deck ; 
Sammy followed suit. But just as he essayed to round 
the corner of the house, a wave rose and fell with a 
stunning roar. Sammy was whisked from his feet and 
thrown to the deck; the kitt fell from his hands, and 
a matter of ten pounds of salt beef was washed all- 
whither. 

“There goes Briggs’s dinner,” said Roy. “Cheer 
oh ! ” But Sammy was not the boy to be defeated. He 
picked himself up, gasping, and made a clutch at the 
chunk of beef; he seized it and crammed it into the kitt, 
opened the half-deck door and disappeared. 

Presently the captain and chief officer appeared on 
the poop, and cast anxious glances aloft. The cadets 
of the starboard watch were all on the poop, the men 
were snugged up under its break, out of the heaviest 
rush of water. There was no possibility of performing 
work beyond the actual handling of the ship ; the order 
had been given to stand by for squalls. 

Captain Branksome and the mate passed the spot 
where our two heroes were crouched. 

“We’ll give the men time to get dinner, then we’ll 
shorten her down a bit more,” said the skipper. 

“She needs it,” grunted the chief officer. “She’s a 
dirty brute in a head sea. Better get the gear clear 
for running, sir?” Captain Branksome nodded, and 
a second later the mate’s tremendous voice was quicken- 
ing the ship to life. The watch on deck aroused them- 
selves and fought their way forward; the cadets aft were 
ordered to see the gear of the mizen topsail ready for 
action. The halliards were flung down on deck, the 
clewlines were cast loose. 


Baulked 79 

“All hands, shorten sail ! ” bellowed the captain, and 
the work began. It was rough work enough whilst it 
lasted. Down rattled the upper topsail yards, up went 
the spilling lines; the thin ribbons of blackened canvas 
became of a sudden violently agitated clouds of canvas. 
Men sprang into the rigging and fought their way aloft ; 
they lay out on the yards, and the shouts of them as 
they handled the iron-hard canvas beat down the wind 
in mockery. 

Syd and Roy laboured with the rest of the boys at 
the mizen topsail clewlines; they hauled when they were 
told to haul, they slackened when they were told to 
slacken ; waves soaked them, the wind snatched at them 
as though determined to strip the clothing from their 
backs. When the topsail was fairly quiet against the 
yard aloft the word was given to go up and furl it. Syd 
was starting for the rigging when he was snatched back 
by no other a hand than that of the captain himself. 

“We don’t want you overboard again, my son,” 
said the skipper. “Stay down here and watch.” And 
down on deck Syd had to stay, busying himself, in 
company with the other youngsters, with coiling up the 
medley of ropes that had been flung down. 

Rid of more of her canvas the Cape Horn seemed 
to settle down to the fight with some degree of comfort, 
the waves that broke aboard were not so violent as they 
had been ; but although she was labouring less she was 
still wet, and at four o’clock the foresail was taken in. 
Hove-to under two lower topsails, the ship rode out the 
gale for the many hours of blackness; and time was 
when Syd and Roy, crouched shivering beneath a 
weather cloth that had been rigged to windward of the 
poop, wondered whether they would ever see daylight 
again. 


8o 


Sons of the Sea 

But gales do not last for ever. After forty-eight 
hours of battering the Cape Horn swung clear of the 
tumult into smoother water and kinder skies; a day’s 
work cleared the raffle from her decks and piled the 
towering heights of canvas upon her again ; the wind 
freed and got away to the north, and with a high-arched 
wave of foam at her forefoot she leaped like a bird 
towards the pleasant waters that lie beneath the Line. 


CHAPTER VII 

A Fire at Sea 

Work began in earnest now. And there was very 
much to be done; so much, indeed, that big though 
the Cape Horn’s complement was, it seemed all in- 
sufficient to cope with its duties. 

The gale had wrought havoc aloft, and selected 
parties were sent up the masts to repair the damage. 
Raymond, being as fully qualified as an A.B., was 
sent to the mizen top to replace some damaged chafing 
gear, and as an assistant was required, he chose Syd. 
Needless to say, the lad used his eyes, ears and hands 
to the best of his ability, and picked up much useful 
knowledge. For Raymond encouraged him to climb 
everywhere, and in the course of a few days it was 
quite a usual thing to see Syd, needing to visit the 
deck for some implement or material, shin down a 
backstay with the greatest equanimity, instead of 
descending by the more legitimate and safer shrouds. 

There was very much to learn, and the way of 
teaching aboard the ship was the simple one of making 
the learner perform the work for himself, and if he did 
not do it right, to make him do it all over again. 
Captain Branksome prided himself on turning out 
finished sailors, and he explained his views on the first 
Sunday after the Cape Horn ran into fine weather. 

“Get your best togs on,” ordered Raymond, as 

G 81 


82 


Sons of the Sea 

Roy and Syd turned out of their bunks at seven bells 
on the Sunday morning. “Sunday’s a holiday here 
— church parade for a start, and then dinner with the 
old man.” 

He himself was seeking for a clean shirt and a 
collar, both of which seemed hard to find, for the sea 
that had swept Briggs into the half-deck on the after- 
noon of the gale had drowned practically everything, 
including the cadets’ sea chests. The boys fished out 
their brass-bound clothes, and donned them with some 
satisfaction, for, as they said, what was the use of 
having uniforms if you weren’t allowed to use them? 
Then, washed and dressed, they sat down to breakfast 
— a better breakfast than usual ; and as at eight bells 
there was no order to turn-to, they sat round yarning 
their hardest whilst the port watch came below and ate 
their morning mead. 

“Usual grind,” grumbled Briggs, who was an in- 
veterate grumbler. “Church, and feed under old 
Branky’s eye! I’ve a jolly good mind to lie up.” 

“You’ll get your nose pulled if you do. ’Sides, 
the old man’s grub is none too bad,” said Raymond, 
pipeclaying a soiled collar he had found. 

“Makes us lose our watch below,” retorted Briggs, 
bolting the pork and beans hungrily. “Lot of tommy- 
rot, I call it.” 

“Starboard watch to lay aft,” came the order at 
this moment; and, obedient to the command, the ten 
lads trooped out on deck. 

The captain and mate were shooting the sun for 
longitude sights, and each lad was shown how to 
perform this delicate operation for himself. Syd de- 
lighted in it; he found it at first a difficult matter to 
bring the reflection of the sun down to the horizon, 


A Fire at Sea 83 

but after a few attempts contrived to achieve a fairly 
accurate result. 

“As soon as you get the lower limb of the sun down 
to the horizon,” explained the second mate, who was 
acting as instructor to the youngsters, “you shout 
‘ Stop I * And then the one who is standing by the 
chronometer notes the exact Greenwich time. By 
working out a small sum you find the time at the 
ship, and the difference between that time and chrono- 
meter time gives you your longitude.” 

But in the main the early part of Sunday passed 
by without incident. The men for’ard took advantage 
of the holiday to wash their clothes, and by four bells 
the rigging for’ard was hung with shirts and trousers, 
jumpers and underwear, until it looked like a second- 
hand clothes shop. 

“You, Brunton, ring the bell,” said the second 
mate at twenty-five minutes past ten; and Syd obeyed. 

The men came trooping aft, and as it was still too 
cold to permit of service being held on deck, they were 
ushered into the saloon ; the cadets took up their places, 
a hymn was sung, the service was read, Captain 
Branksome delivered a few manly, heart-stirring words, 
and divine service was over for that week. 

Then followed an interval of waiting about; until 
at one o’clock, after meridian sights had been obtained, 
the cadets were summoned aft; and here they found 
a meal prepared. They revelled in the chicken and 
ham and the many dainties that were denied them in 
the half-deck, and when the meal was eaten, Captain 
Branksome looked around him at the score of shining 
faces. 

“There are new boys here,” he said, “and I usually 
have a talk with the new-comers as soon as I can. 


84 Sons of the Sea 

We’ve been too busy so far, but there’s a promise of 
better times coming. Well, youngsters, you’ll have 
been wondering why I’ve made you do work that the 
men for’ard have to do. For a very good reason. A 
man cannot be a good officer until he’s learnt how to 
be a good sailor; he can’t criticise a man’s perform- 
ance of a job until he knows exactly how that job is 
to be done. So my plan is to teach him by his own 
mistakes exactly how such and such a piece of work 
should be performed, and then he’ll be able to see if 
it’s being done right. 

“ I dare say some of you grumble ” he looked for 
a moment here at Briggs — “and wonder what’s the 
use of it all, but I assure you there’s every reason 
for it. And so, when you’re put to tasks you don’t 
like, just cheer yourselves with the thought that there’s 
an end in view, even though you can’t exactly see it.” 

He paused for a moment, and the younger boys 
wondered what was coming next. 

“And now,” he said, “I’ll tell you about the time 
I was shipwrecked off New Guinea.” 

No one moved whilst the story was being told; the 
lads were wellnigh breathless with interest. In simple, 
sailorly language the captain told of hair-raising ad- 
ventures by flood and field, when the ship’s company 
amongst whom he was numbered were cast away 
amongst savage men at the other side of the world. 
He told of their fights and their sufferings, of their 
dangers and their hopes, and the listening lads thrilled 
to their hearts. 

“And we won out in the long run, mainly because 
we refused to lose heart,” concluded the skipper. “If 
we’d grumbled at the irksomeness of it we’d have 
made a meal for the cannibals probably, but we stuck 


A Fire at Sea 85 

together, and so I am here now to tell you the 
story.” 

And now, the voyage having properly begun, mat- 
ters gradually settled down into the inevitable monotony 
of shipboard life. To be sure there were lively inter- 
ludes, especially in the half-deck during the second 
dog-watch, when no work was required save the tending 
of the ship. The custom was to leave two boys on 
deck : one on the poop, to keep time — that is, to strike 
the bell every half-hour; the other to patrol the 
quarter-deck within hail of the half-deck door, so that 
any order from the poop might be transmitted without 
loss of time to those of the watch on deck; and then 
to yarn and lark to their hearts* content. 

Syd and Roy learnt to know exactly what was 
meant by the phrase, “Rough house.’* Bully Briggs 
initiated them into the hidden secrets of this form of 
sport on an evening when the Gape Horn lay becalmed 
on a sea like smoky oil. There was not a breath of 
wind in all the sky; the sails hung listlessly up and 
down the masts. 

“Paddy’s hurricane,” said Raymond. “Straight up 
and down. Hope we don’t get stuck in the dol- 
drums.” 

Briggs, lying on his sea chest, suddenly reached 
down and slipped off his boot. There was a crash, 
the lamp went out as the boot caught it fairly. 

“Rough house!” yelled Briggs; and instantly 
pandemonium was let loose. Syd felt a pair of strong 
hands seize on his neck and thrust his head down- 
wards into the water-tank. He emerged dripping, 
and, finding someone near at hand, snatched at him 
and brought him to the deck. There followed a mad 
rough-and-tumble; scuffling sounds were heard through 


86 


Sons of the Sea 

the gloom ; a piercing wail beat through the din, as 
one of the youngsters was thrown up and down like 
a ball. Then light showed again, as Raymond 
kindled the lamp, and the cadets were able to take 
stock of their damages. Syd was dripping from head 
to foot; Roy looked ludicrous, crowned as he was by 
a bowl of sticky marmalade, which had somehow 
been clapped on his head. The stuff covered his face 
and dripped steadily down his shirt, but his plight 
was nothing compared with that of some of the others. 
They had torn their clothes; they had been smeared 
with tar and paint. Briggs had made elegant pre- 
parations. One lad was rolled up in his blankets and 
thrust half-way through an open port. Briggs himself 
was suffering from a cut across the forehead, and in 
addition had a promising black eye. 

“I believe I did that,” said Roy to Syd, after he 
had cleared the viscous mess from his eyes. “I struck 
out at whatever came, and I got in a good one — look 
at my knuckles.” True enough, the skin was ragged 
and sore, to bear witness to the force of the blow he 
had struck. 

Briggs looked up and saw him, and an ugly frown 
crossed his face. The big cadet liked nothing better 
than a “rough house,” so long as he was the man to 
perform the roughness; but when paid back in his 
own coin he w r as apt to grow angry. 

“You did this,” he said, pointing to his injuries. 

“Well, you did this,” retorted Roy, gingerly 
cleaning the marmalade from his hair. “So we’re 
about square.” 

“I’ll settle with you another time,” growled Briggs. 
“It’s time some of you youngsters were put in your 
place.” 


A Fire at Sea 8 7 

“Steady on there!” shouted Raymond. “Who 
started the ‘rough house,’ anyhow? You did it, 
Briggs, and so you’ll take what’s come to you, as 
we others have done.” 

“Hear, hear! ” crowed Syd, towelling his dripping 
head. 

Raymond went out on deck, and Briggs turned on 
the two chums. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he said darkly. “Don’t 
forget it. I’m an ugly man to cross. I’m a fighting 
man, and the man I hit breaks.” He had carefully 
modelled himself on a bucko Yankee sailor who had 
formed one of the Cape Horn's crew on her previous 
voyage. He thought that to talk big “bluff” was 
the acme of excellence. “I’ve got my eye on you,” 
he continued menacingly, “and sooner or later I’ll 
make you smart.” 

“Not that eye, I hope,” was Syd’s cheeky response, 
and he indicated the injured member. 

Briggs’s only reply was a ferocious howl ; he leaped 
forward with venom in his glance, but as he tripped 
over a pair of sea boots that had somehow turned up 
in the melee, he came an undignified cropper at Syd’s 
feet; and before he could gather himself up Raymond 
was back. 

“Hallo, Briggs; trying to cool your head on the 
deck?” he asked. “Why don’t you stick it through 
a washport and let the sharks fan it with their tails ? ” 

“You mind your own confounded business!” 
snarled Briggs. 

It may be that trouble would have arisen but that 
at this, moment there came a cry of : “Square the 
main yard ! ” and the watch had to go on deck. By 
the time the yards had been trimmed, in view of the 


88 


Sons of the Sea 

slight draught of air that had set up, it was eight bells, 
and the watches were set. 

It was a marvellous night; beyond the slight fan- 
ning whisper that came over the starboard quarter 
there was not a breath of wind. The sky was purple 
and immense, so thickly strewn with stars that it 
seemed a jewelled carpet hung high in space. The 
big southern stars blazed their brightest, and away 
to the east the moon hove herself into view, red and 
distorted by the distance. The sails crooned and flapped 
mysteriously; gleams of phosphorescence showed from 
the half-hidden sea; men involuntarily spoke in whis- 
pers, as though afraid of the sound of their own 
voices. 

It was Syd’s first “time,” which is to say that for 
two hours, from eight to ten, he must parade the 
poop’s lee side alertly, nominally keeping a look out 
to leeward, though there was little likelihood of any- 
thing being seen, and ringing the bell every half-hour. 
The mysterious splendour of the night gripped him 
firmly; he tasted to the full that indescribable con- 
tentment which comes to the sailor-born when afloat 
on a silent sea. 

He dreamed strange dreams as he padded softly up 
and down the deck, bare-footed, because the night was 
warm. So far his first voyage had not been productive 
of those amazing adventures he had imagined in the 
seclusion of Summerford; but as yet the Cafe Horn 
had barely left home-waters behind. 

“Wait till we get into southern seas,” thought Syd. 
“ Desert islands and savages — that’ll be something worth 
while.” 

He went to the companion-way and looked at the 
clock; it was on the stroke of nine; he padded aft to the 


A Fire at Sea 89 

wheel-box and struck the bell twice. From forward 
came the vibrant answer of the forecastle bell, then the 
long-drawn cry of the look out : “The lights are bright. 
All’s well.” There was a sense of great security about 
the ship. The light air that had rustled softly amongst 
the rigging died away, it became very still. Syd found 
the constant patrolling growing more and more mono- 
tonous. He stood for a while by the mizen rigging, 
he yawned sleepily and closed his eyes. With a start he 
aroused himself and listened — nothing had happened. 
He walked up and down the poop afresh, but five 
minutes more found him by the rigging again. The 
topgallant braces were hung on their pins in bights; 
somehow, he did not know how, he was seated in the 
coil of the main upper topgallant brace, which formed a 
natural seat. He would rest here for a little while, he 
said, and then resume his slow pacing — pacing. 

It was a violent shake that brought him out of the 
coil and asprawl on the deck. He sat up, rubbing his 
eyes, to find no other than Captain Branksome staring 
down on him. 

“ Is this what you call keeping watch ? ” demanded 
the skipper sternly. “If you sleep in the first watch 
what will you do in the graveyard watch? Mr. Sey- 
mour, good officers don’t go to sleep on watch, do 
they ? ” 

“No, sir,” replied the second officer gravely. 

“And bad officers who do sleep when they ought 
to keep awake must be taught how to avoid such a re- 
prehensible practice. You’ll find a capstan bar against 
the bulkhead of the half-deck, Brunton.” 

“Yes, sir.” Poor Syd hardly knew what was 
coming. Was he to be licked with a handspike ? He 
had heard of such things being done, and being now 


90 


Sons of the Sea 

wide awake his fears had full play. But there was 
nothing to be done save fetch the capstan bar, and he 
returned to the poop with it, feeling very disconsolate 
indeed. 

“Now, my son, just you shoulder that and keep 
marching,” ordered Captain Branksome. “And if you 
go to sleep again you’ll be sentenced to ride the spanker- 
boom for the rest of your watch.” 

Syd began solemnly to parade; this, he said, was 
no punishment at all. But after a little while the bar 
began to grow unconscionably heavy, it seemed to be 
eating into his shoulder. He stopped short. 

“Keep moving there,” cried Mr. Seymour, though 
there was a laugh in his voice, had Syd but known it. 

It was ten o’clock, four bells, and the bar grew 
heavier and heavier. By rights Roy Halliday should 
have relieved the poop at four bells, but he had not 
appeared. And Mr. Seymour did not, as usual, send 
a ringing shout along the deck to summon the relief. 
The sailor whose next trick at the wheel it was came 
aft. Syd heard a muttered conversation between him 
and the man who was on duty ; he heard the relieved 
man pass to windward and report the course to the 
watch officer. 

“Light on the starboard bow, sir,” came the clear 
cry from forward. The second mate walked over to 
leeward and collided with Syd, capstan bar and all, 
ejaculated something, and then : 

“Brunton, go below and get my glasses.” Syd 
breathed a sigh of relief and plunged down the ladder. 
The glasses were easy to discover; he had a moment 
for a glance of admiration round the officer’s snug room, 
where the white enamelled walls were covered with 
photographs and curious relics of the seas of all the 


9i 


A Fire at Sea 

world; and then, with the binoculars in his hand, darted 
to the deck again. Short as had been his absence, Mr. 
Seymour was impatient. 

“Look alive there, look alive.” He snatched the 
glasses and focused them. Syd heard him exclaim 
something; then: “Ask the captain to step on deck, 
Brunton.” Syd darted below and tapped at the 
captain’s door. In obedience to a summons he entered, 
to find the skipper seated in a cane chair, reading. 

“Mr. Seymour wishes to see you on deck, sir.” The 
skipper reached for his cap and moved slowly off, Syd 
following. 

“It’s a mighty big light, sir,” he heard the second 
officer say as he gained the deck. “ I don’t like the look 
of it at all.” 

“Nor I, Seymour. I don’t like it a bit. Oh, for a 
breeze ! ” But the sails remained listless and unmoved, 
though both captain and officer whistled their shrillest. 
Syd, trained already to implicit obedience, was on the 
point of shouldering his capstan bar afresh, but it 
slipped from his aching shoulder and thudded to the 
deck. 

“What’s that?” asked the captain, jumping 
violently. 

“Me, sir,” replied Syd ungrammatically. “The 

capstan bar, sir ” Captain Branksome laughed, and 

Syd took this as a sign that his punishment was over. 
He walked to the lee rail and peered over; away ahead 
was a light of considerable magnitude. 

“Here, youngster, up you go to the mizen royal yard 
and see what you make of that light,” said Mr. Sey- 
mour, passing his glasses over. Syd leaped into the 
rigging and went aloft like a squirrel, for much training 
had made him very agile, and now the futtocks pre- 


92 


Sons of the Sea 

sented no difficulties. He did not stop until he was 
seated on the royal yard, hugging the chain tye, and 
here he focused the glasses. A moment later his clear, 
young voice went ringing down to the unseen deck 
below : “Ship on fire, sir ! ” 

He gazed again, and there was no mistaking the fact. 
Two miles away from the Cape Horn something was 
burning briskly, and the lad could make out the fairy- 
like spars of a ship amongst the leaping redness. There 
was a ship on fire, and a little while before he had been 
bemoaning the fact that the sea had brought him no 
real adventures. 

He felt the rigging beneath him shake ; Mr. Seymour 
hauled himself to the royal yard and possessed himself 
of the glasses. 

“You’ve got good eyes, my son — yes, she’s on fire, 
and there isn’t a breath of wind.” He leaned down- 
wards so that his voice would carry distinctly, and in- 
formed the captain of what he had seen. 

“Right; come down from aloft,” was the order; and 
the two descended. Syd hung near whilst a hurried 
discussion was carried on. 

“Can’t get nearer without wind,” complained the 
captain. “Well, we can’t let ’em burn. Call away two 
boats ; take one yourself, let Raymond take the other.” 

“Stand by your two quarter boats,” roared Mr. Sey- 
mour, and the night disgorged a number of hurrying 
shapes. The call to swing out and man boats is so 
seldom heard aboard a merchant ship, that all hands 
knew instinctively something of urgent importance was 
in the wind. Sleepy-eyed men who had been nap- 
ping in obscure corners laid hold of davit falls and 
guys; in a very short while the boats were swung out 
and lowered to the rails. 


93 


A Fire at Sea 

“Here, young ’un, come along, if you want to see 
something,” said Raymond, snatching at Syd’s 
shoulder; and almost before the lad knew what was 
happening he was bundled into a boat ; the falls were 
whirring, there was a plunge, a thrusting outward, and 
then : “Back port, pull starboard,” sang out Raymond, 
and a moment later, as the boat shot away : “ Give way 
together ! Put your backs into it.” 

The men replied with gusto. They strained every 
sinew to make the boat fly through the placid waters; 
the wind whistled past the faces of the two in the stern- 
sheets. The boat’s crew were white men all, with the 
sole exception of Snowball, a mighty coloured man — a 
Barbadian negro, who was at once the butt and life of 
the forecastle. This man pulled stroke, and by the 
moonlight Syd could see his tremendous muscles knot 
and swell as he tore at the eighteen-foot piece of spruce 
in his hands. 

The boat chugged forward, the gurgle of water 
around her strakes was loud and insistent : a very song 
of strife. From abeam came the measured beat of oars 
from the second officer’s boat. 

“Lay into it, we’ve got to lick those others,” shouted 
Raymond. “Here, Syd, double up with Snowball 
there.” Syd slipped under the oar and seated himself 
on the thwart, he laid hold of the oar and added his 
weight, not much perhaps, but still it was something. 

“Whoa dere, chile — hit her up ! ” grunted Snowball, 
perspiring profusely. “Chew der water-melon, chillun ; 
make her hum. Dat’s de way ’Badians pull de ole 
fam’ly boat. Hit her up ! ” The crew were already 
doing their best, but the negro’s cheerful voice seemed 
to stir them to fresh effort. 

The second mate’s boat was left astern ; steered as 


94 


Sons of the Sea 

straight as an arrow, Raymond’s command sped to- 
wards a growing radiance in the night. Glancing over 
his shoulder Syd saw that it was indeed a mighty ship 
that was blazing merrily fore and aft. Terrific volumes 
of smoke poured from her hull, he could see her yards 
bend and warp as the heat softened the metal in the 
bunts. 

‘‘Oh, row, men, row! ” shouted Raymond. There 
was a scorching heat on Syd’s back now; he could dis- 
tinctly hear the roar and crackle of flames ; the scene was 
as light as day. 

“ Rowed of all ; lay on your oars I ” commanded the 
senior cadet. “Ship ahoy ! ” he bellowed in a tremen- 
dous voice. “Ship ahoy ! ” 

“ Boat ahoy ! ” came back an answer in a somewhat 
frightened voice. Raymond caused his men to scull 
somewhat closer, and now, breathless though he was by 
his struggles, Syd had time to take in the whole 
magnificence of the sight. A pillar of flame roared 
upwards from the doomed vessel’s ’midships to the 
height of her main yard, which, as he watched, doubled 
and crashed downwards. The flames licked upwards, 
travelling along the ropes like writhing serpents; they 
burnt away the gaskets that held the topgallant sail 
and the sail dropped to its full length. A line of fire 
ran up it, and it melted away to nothingness; another 
yard crashed downwards, and a monstrous shower of 
upleaping sparks announced its fall. The glare on the 
water was such as to give the impression that the sea 
was red-hot and blazing. 

“Pull in, Raymond ! ” It was Mr. Seymour’s boat, 
its approach unnoticed by reason of the awful din of 
the fire. “They haven’t much time to spare.” 

The boats moved slowly towards the ship’s stern, 


95 


A Fire at Sea 

which was comparatively free from fire at the moment, 
although the main deck immediately before the poop 
was a torrent of flame. There were many men 
clustered aft and peering towards the water. When 
Mr. Seymour hailed them they responded with a 
common accord. 

“Why don’t you get your boats out?” asked the 
officer. 

“Dey vas burnt to #sh,” came back the answer. “It 
vas all sudden, immediate — just so.” 

“Going to abandon her? ” demanded Seymour prac- 
tically. Syd saw a bearded man throw up his arms in 
despair. “Dere vas no odder course,” he said. “She 
burn fast — nitrates she was loaded mit.” 

“She’ll be done for in another half-hour — no chance,” 
said Raymond. “You can’t put that sort of fire out. 
Might as well try to extinguish dynamite when it’s 
fairly started. Going to take them off, sir ? ” 

“Yes. Pull in as close as you can; there might be 
sharks about.” The boats were backed in towards the 
ship’s stern, and in spite of the intense heat of the con- 
flagration, were held there whilst ropes were flung and 
seized. Presently a man leaped down from the taffrail 
and struck out towards the boats; he was seized and 
drawn aboard. Another followed and another, until 
close on a dozen had been transhipped. The roar of 
the flames increased beyond description; there were 
sudden violent explosions that hurled masses of blazing 
material high into the air, whence they fell into the 
placid water like rockets, hissing and spluttering. 

“How many more?” demanded Raymond, as he 
and Syd dragged a young man into the boat. 

The rescued one shook his head; he did not under- 
stand. All he knew was that he had feared death and 


96 Sons of the Sea 

had found life. The survivors huddled down shivering 
on the bottom-boards; the boat was loaded deeply. 
Still, there had been no signal to retire from the work of 
salvation. 

“Here comes the skipper,” cried Mr. Seymour, as 
the bearded man leaped on the taffrail . His clothing 
was afire; flames were rushing towards him. He 
seemed to be holding something in his arms, but the 
watchers had no time to distinguish the object, for as 
they looked he flung his hands above his head and 
plunged downwards — a stream of fire that was quenched 
suddenly as he struck the water. Presently a head 
appeared, a pair of hands showing; Syd gripped at the 
swimmer’s hair and drew him alongside; he was 
bundled into the boat. 

“I vas der last,” he gasped. “I der captain of der 
ship am. And dis is der ship’s cat ; der mate der papers 
haf.” 

He had risked his life to save the cat — rushing down 
to the cabin, despite the fact that it was a roaring crater 
of fire. The men of the Cape Horn raised an involun- 
tary cheer as they realised the thing that he had done, 
but their cheering was cut short by a curt command 
from the second officer. 

“Give way together. Sharp’s the word.” The 
deep-laden boats moved slowly across the zone of 
radiance, and it was not a moment too soon. For, 
before they had gone a cable’s length, the ship blew up 
with a stunning report, and flaming wreckage crashed 
down all about them. A moment later the scene was 
as dark as the grave by comparison with the brilliant 
light that had been, and the sea was smooth and undis- 
turbed, the moon shining placidly down from a clear 
sky. Syd heard a deep-throated sob from the last man 


97 


A Fire at Sea 

to be brought aboard the boat, and saw the German 
captain’s hands go up to his face, saw his shoulders 
heave. The dripping cat rubbed itself against her 
saviour’s arm and mewed pitifully. 

“Der first ship I effer lose,” said the German 
captain. “I feel like my heart break in many places.” 

Since sympathy was useless, Raymond gave the 
word to pull back for the Cape Horn with might and 
main, and before long, notwithstanding the heavy 
burdens they bore, the boats ran alongside. Ropes 
and ladders were lowered, the survivors were hoisted 
aboard, the boats were run up and housed, and the 
night’s adventure was over. 

It proved that the burnt ship was the Palacio, a big 
German four-master, homeward bound from Iquique for 
Hamburg. She had made almost a record passage 
until she struck this present calm after a somewhat 
severe blow in the Trades; and then, just as men were 
fretting over their forced inaction, fire had been dis- 
covered. They had made heroic attempts to combat it, 
but it had been hopeless from the first. Ten of the crew 
had been destroyed, owing to a portion of the deck 
where they were working collapsing and precipitating 
them into the blazing inferno beneath ; fifteen survived, 
together with the captain, two mates — the third and 
fourth had perished — the steward, and the ship’s cat. 

'‘Well, captain,” said Branksome, when he heard the 
tale, “we’ll do our best for you, but I hope we’ll sight 
a homeward-bounder soon, as you don’t want to go to 
China. Meanwhile, let me see to your hurts; you’re 
badly burnt.” 

“Vas I? I forget it,” said the captain. “I t’inks 
only of mein ship and mein leetle cat.” 

“And I said there weren’t many adventures at sea 

H 


9 8 Sons of the Sea 

nowadays,” said Syd to Roy, as he turned in at eight 
bells. “Well, we live and learn.” But Roy was 
consumed with envy at the thought that his chum had 
been away in the boat whilst he was condemned to 
remain behind, and now he only grunted incoherently. 

Three days later the Cape Horn, having picked up 
fresh Trades, sighted a homeward-bound steamer, and, 
heaving to, transferred her human salvage. The boats 
came back, the main-yard was squared, and the English 
vessel ramped gloriously towards the Equator. 


CHAPTER VIII 

Two Narrow Squeaks 

“And that’ll teach you not to give any more of your 
rotten cheek,” said Briggs savagely. “You’ve got to 
learn a thing or two.” He brought the colt he had 
manufactured from a piece of ratline heavily down on 
Roy’s back at each word, and the lad writhed. He had 
been playing a practical joke on Briggs — the big cadet 
seemed to lend himself to such work. The opportunity 
had been irresistible on this Sunday afternoon. Going 
into the half-deck in search of soap — for Roy was a 
cleanly boy, and had been bitten with the prevalent 
mania for washing clothes that had run riot through 
the ship ever since the first heavy rain-squall had 
broken — he had seen Briggs lying flat on his back in his 
bunk and snoring peacefully. There was a tin of red 
paint in the cadets* quarters, left there overnight by 
Raymond, who had been painting his sea chest, and 
Roy fell before the temptation. He delicately daubed 
Briggs’ nose with the rich, red stuff, he drew a flaring 
cross on his forehead, he painted his budding mous- 
tache. The effect was startling in the extreme. 

But that was not all. As eight bells sounded 
Captain Branksome called Briggs to the poop, and as 
the big cadet was notoriously sleepy, stretching out his 
watch below to the uttermost limits, it followed as a 
natural sequence that he leaped from his bunk, slipped 

99 


IOO 


Sons of the Sea 

on his trousers, donned a cap, and rushed without a 
pause to the poop. He heard a broken roar of laughter 
from Captain Branksome and Mr. Barker; he saw the 
second officer turn away with a hand clapped over his 
mouth; and then he became aware of a strange feeling 
on his skin. 

“You called, sir ? ” he asked, passing his hand across 
his forehead. 

“Ye — yes, I called,” hiccoughed the skipper. “I — 
I — oh, yes, most certainly I called.” His feelings could 
no longer be restrained; he doubled up and yelled aloud. 

“Go and get rid of that filthy mess,” said the chief 
officer. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
appearing on the poop like a circus clown. Get it off, 
I say.” 

Briggs stood bewilderedly looking at his hand, 
which was smeared with red. He thought at first that it 
was blood, until the stench of the paint reached his 
nostrils, and then he understood. He bolted from the 
poop and straight to the half-deck ; he regarded himself 
in the mirror and saw the frightful wreck that had been 
made of his face. If there was one thing above another 
that the bully detested, it was being made a fool of. 

“Someone’s going to smart for this,” he said 
savagely, rubbing away with a towel. But the towel 
would not serve, and not until turpentine had been 
procured from the boatswain did his face resume any- 
thing of its normal appearance. Smouldering with 
wrath he went aft and received his instructions from the 
now quiet captain : instructions to write up his daily 
log and present it for inspection. Then he returned to 
the half-deck, and began to ask questions. The boys 
of his own watch were in total ignorance of the identity 
of the culprit, and said as much. 


Two Narrow Squeaks ioi 

“I’ll give you all a jolly good licking if you don’t 
find out,” said Briggs in an ugly fashion. He had long 
ago terrorised his messmates so that they feared him 
absolutely, all saving Frazer, perhaps, who was not 
present, being down in the third mate’s room, yarning. 

It was little Hyatt who saw the tell-tale paint traces 
on Roy’s fingers. Roy had splashed himself freely 
with the stuff, and paint has a disconcerting habit of 
sticking to the roots of one’s finger nails. Hoping to 
curry favour with his oppressor, Hyatt ran aft to tell the 
news, and Briggs, sternly bidding the rest of his w 7 atch 
remain below, went out on deck. He seated himself on 
the chicken coop and took out his pipe and a couple of 
feet or so of ratline stuff, which is thin hemp rope, 
capable of inflicting a painful blow. Here, smoking 
and knotting, he waited until he saw Roy emerge 
from the sailmaker’s room. On Sunday a certain 
amount of latitude was allowed the cadets; they were 
at liberty to mix with the men and pick up from them 
useful hints. 

Briggs leaped from the coop and accosted Roy as 
he strolled aft. It was now almost dark; in a few 
minutes more it would be quite dark, for night falls 
suddenly in the Tropics. 

“I want to speak to you, Halliday,” bellowed the 
bully, swinging his colt until it hissed in the air. 

“ What about ? ” demanded Roy, not liking the look 
of things. Briggs made no response in words, but 
snatched at Roy’s hand and lifted it to his eyes. 

“Red paint on your nails,” he gloomed, swinging 
the colt harder than before. “There was red paint on 
my face, you sweep! You painted me.” Roy said 
nothing, but tried to make a bolt. Briggs had him in a 
firm clutch, however, and he could not escape. 


102 


Sons of the Sea 

“Did you paint my face?” demanded the bully. 
“Once, twice! — did you paint my face?” 

Roy tried to lie, but he had never done it in his life, 
and it was too late to begin now. He therefore main- 
tained a stony silence. 

“You did it, you young skunk! ” bellowed Briggs, 
and brought down his colt with force across Roy’s 
shoulders. Roy would sooner have died than cry out 
under the punishment, but he tried to retaliate. He 
hurled himself round and struck Briggs a blow in the 
face that drew blood, and the pain seemed to drive the 
bully mad. With a curse he struck Roy down, a 
savage blow, and then laid into him with all his might. 
He grew mad with the sheer delight of inflicting pain ; 
he held Roy down and laced into him until the un- 
fortunate lad was well-nigh sick with agony. 

“And that’ll teach you not to give any more of your 
rotten cheek,” bellowed Briggs. “You’ve got to learn 
a thing or two.” 

“Stop, you coward!” cried Roy feebly. “Stop, 
you’re killing me.” Briggs kicked him and brought 
the colt down again. It was at this moment that Syd 
turned the corner of the half-deck and heard what was 
going on. Night had fallen already; all he could dis- 
cern was two figures huddled together on the deck. He 
heard the swish of the colt and Roy’s yelp of pain, and 
realised what was going forward. He heard Briggs’ 
harsh voice, too. 

“Stop that,” he said, running forward, and, snatch- 
ing at the bully’s arm, he dragged it aside with such 
force as almost to dislocate it. “Stop it, you coward ! ” 
But Briggs was half insane now with delight of inflict- 
ing torture, which is a form of intoxication. He swung 
the colt and lashed Syd across the face with it. 


Two Narrow Squeaks *°3 

“Don’t you interfere,” he snarled, and turned again 
to Roy. But Syd darted on him like a terrier, striking 
hard blows, without much science, it is to be feared, but 
with such swiftness that Briggs was forced, in self- 
defence, to take guard and look to himself. He got in 
a swinging right-hander on Syd’s ear that almost 
stunned the lad. But it served another purpose, too; 
it warmed his blood to such a pitch that he forgot to 
think of possible consequences, and hurled himself to 
the attack without a thought. 

“I’ll break your neck, you young ” began 

Briggs, driven back by the impetuosity of Syd’s attack. 

“I’ll ” He struck again and again, and bore Syd 

back. The lad was whirling now; two consecutive 
blows had well-nigh blinded him, but his fighting spirit 
was aroused; he knew that Briggs might kill him, but 
he would never beat him. 

He struck and felt his fist come in contact with 
human flesh, he struck again and again ; Briggs hurled 
himself on him and bore him down to the deck. Syd 
fell prone, and received the bully’s foot in his side, but 
before Briggs could withdraw his boot for another 
attack, Roy, gathering himself from the planking, 
leaped in. 

He drove Briggs back and allowed Syd a breathing 
space, in which the lad got to his feet. Briggs was 
strong, and when driven to it, plucky in a way, and 
now he roared : “I’ll skin the pair of you ! ” Syd ran 
to aid Roy, and as he came he asked : “ Both of us — 
together ? ” 

“Yes, both of you, you young skulpings,” said the 
bully. 

“That’s good enough for us, Roy; in we go,” cried 
Syd, and in they went with gusto. They had united 


104 


Sons of the Sea 

forces before at Summerford; they knew the virtues of 
concerted action. Inside two minutes Briggs was down 
on his knees, cursing vilely, but knocked almost out of 
time. The youngsters drew back, and Syd’s foot 
touched the colt that had been used with such drastic 
effect on Roy. 

“Get your own back, old son,” he said cheerfully. 
“1*11 see fair play.” And Roy was nothing loath. 
Smarting all over as he was he laid on with the colt 
until Briggs yelled for mercy, and not until they had 
extracted from him a promise that no retaliation should 
follow their actions, did they let him go. 

“But I’ll be square with you yet,” almost sobbed the 
bully, as he dragged himself to the half-deck. The 
boys followed, considerably proud of themselves, to find 
Raymond in the place. 

“Hallo, Briggs, been hitting things with your face? ” 
laughed Raymond. Briggs muttered something and 
looked at himself in the glass. He presented a pitiful 
spectacle, for his face, rendered tender by the turpen- 
tine, had lent itself to the adornment of the youngsters’ 
fists. Fie possessed a magnificent black eye; his upper 
lip was cut and bleeding; and as he had been unable to 
get the paint from his moustache, his whole appearance 
was terrifying. On his heels came the youngsters, also 
showing signs of wear. Raymond whistled softly to 
himself. 

Then : “ Been fighting, you two ? ” he asked 

magisterially. The lads nodded and looked at Briggs 
with wide grins. 

“Been fighting a th ird- voyager ; that’s confounded 
cheek. You children are getting too uppish. And 
so — I’m going to interfere.” He reached to his 
bunk and took out a colt of his own, not such a 


Two Narrow Squeaks i»5 

devilishly painful contrivance as Briggs’, and swung 
it in the air. 

“Will you take it now or wait till I report you to the 
old man ? ” he asked. 

“We’ll take it now,” replied Syd and Roy in one 
voice. And take it they did. It was severe, but it 
purged them of some of their pride; and later on, when 
Briggs was recovered enough to challenge them both 
to combat, they took a severe licking, which did them 
no harm. 

Two days after this occurrence Syd Brunton had a 
remarkably narrow escape from death. He was work- 
ing at the main fiferail, putting an eyesplice in a rope 
there, when, without warning, something fell from 
aloft, missing his brainpan by a fraction of an inch. 
Startled by the sullen thud of the falling thing, Syd 
looked aloft, where a man was working in the main-top, 
and, peering over, this man cried: “Look out, below.” 
Syd turned away his eyes and discovered that a long 
steel marline spike, with a point like a stiletto, was 
embedded for nearly three inches in the deck planking 
at his feet. An inch more and he must have been killed 
outright. 

“Main-top, there, what sort of games are you play- 
ing? ” demanded the boatswain, who had been attracted 
by the shout. “Come down and fetch this spike; it’s 
a miracle you didn’t kill the boy.” Forbes — for it was 
Forbes — came unwillingly to the deck. 

“What you want is a hammering,” said the 
boatswain. “Droppin’ spikes from aloft in that 
fashion ! ” 

“The lanyard broke,” muttered the sailor, eyeing 
Syd with no tender glance. “I shouted when the thing 
dropped.” 


io6 


Sons of the Sea 

“You shouted after it had dropped,” retorted Syd, 
not too wisely, maybe. “It was in the deck before you 
spoke.” 

The boatswain wrenched the spike out of the 
planking — it required the exertion of all his strength — 
and handed it to Forbes. 

“Take that to my locker,” he said. “You’re not fit 
to be trusted aloft with heavy weights. Get a holystone 
and scrub the forecastle head — that’s about your mark. 
Look alive, or I’ll be after you with a boot at your 
stern.” 

Forbes moved away muttering. 

“Good thing for you, my son, that your head wasn’t 
in the way of that spike, or you’d have lost the number 
of your mess,” said the boatswain. “That’s the second 
time you’ve nearly slipped your cable.” Syd said 
nothing, but the thought came to him that on both 
occasions when he had been near to death Forbes was 
somehow concerned in the matter. 

But youthful memories are short ones, and next 
day Syd had forgotten all about it. To be sure, 
he mentioned the matter to Roy, who expressed 
the opinion that it was a “rummy go, look at it as 
you might,” but boys do not remember unpleasant 
things for long. 

Sammy and his crony, Harry, were by this time so 
much a part of the ship’s life as to merit no special 
attention here; Harry was rapidly developing into as 
capable a seaman as his companion, and the pair were 
seldom out of mischief. 

“It’s like this, Harry,” volunteered Sammy. “It 
upsets me to hear about Mister Syd’s escape; I can’t 
forget he saved my life that time in the river. And I’ve 
seed Forbes watch him like a cat watching a mouse. 


Two Narrow Squeaks 107 

There’s another thing — when Mister Sydney fell from 
the main-yard that time, I found a gasket on deck, and 
it had been cut! ” 

“Well, it mightn’t have been the same gasket,” said 
Harry. “Go on, you’ve been reading too many of 
them detective stories in the fo’c’sle. It was an 
accident, dropping that spike.” 

“It might have been, and it might not,” replied 
Sammy. “But I’m goin’ to keep a sharp eye on Mister 
Forbes, Esquire; the beggar booted me round the fore- 
hatch no longer since than last Sunday. And I hadn’t 
done nothing.” 

“Hadn’t you ? ” 

“Well, hardly anything. I’d only used his razor to 
cut out that model ship I’m making, but lor’ ! you’d 
have thought I’d tried for to skin him.” 

“Served you right; I’d have booted anyone who’d 
used my razor.” The two boys argued and argued 
again, and the discussion ended, as most of their dis- 
cussions did, in a resort to fisticuffs, which never 
undermined their friendship. But Sammy stowed 
away his suspicions in the back of his mind for future 
reference. 

The matter was forgotten by Sydney and Roy — com- 
pletely driven out of their minds by an occurrence 
which was so dramatic in its suddenness and danger 
that even to this day neither of our two heroes can look 
back on those awful moments without shivers of 
apprehension shaking them. 

It was at a point something like five degrees north 
of the Line. The Cape Horn, after storming gaily 
through the north-east Trades, had entered a belt of 
calms, and for a couple of days she hgfd lain on the 
water as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. 


io8 


Sons of the Sea 

It was intensely hot; so hot that the pitch bubbled 
out of the deck seams, so hot that the deck planking 
was like an oven plate. The sails, bleached white as 
laundered linen, hung lifeless from the masts; men 
sought such shade as could be found, and grumbled 
when driven out into the full glare of the equatorial 
sun. To touch the glittering brass of binnacle or rail 
w T as to invite acute pain ; but the boys in the half-deck 
enjoyed themselves thoroughly. They were given a 
place under an awning on the quarter-deck, and here 
their daily instructions were given ; here they learnt 
long-splicing, sailmaking, and the hundred other in- 
tricacies that fall to the sailor’s lot. 

The nights were wondrously pleasant; still and well- 
nigh soundless, save for the faint breathing of the sea, 
the occasional splash of a predatory bonito, or the thud 
of a flying fish falling on the deck as it endeavoured to 
escape from its natural enemies under water. The 
watch on deck were at liberty to curl themselves away 
in corners, holding themselves ready for a call to the 
braces if a wind should arise, but perfectly sure of being 
allowed to sleep in peace. Syd and Roy had grown 
adepts at this “caulking” on deck, and often enough 
slept on the after-hatch in their watch below, to escape 
from the stuffy atmosphere of the half-deck, which, after 
being blazed upon by the vertical sun, was like a 
Turkish bath. To be sure, they carefully covered their 
eyes from the it*oon-glare, having heard lurid stories 
of men losing their eyesight through a neglect of this 
precaution; and, indeed, they had concrete evidence 
of the baleful effects of the moon’s light; for that same 
youngster who had informed Briggs of Roy’s work 
with the paint-brush, sleeping for two hours on deck 
without a cover over his eyes, was unable to see his 


Two Narrow Squeaks 109 

hand before his face after the sun set for a clear month ; 
and for a fortnight he carried his head at such an angle 
that he appeared constantly to be spying out the 
straightness of the royal pole. 

But this has nothing to do with Roy’s adventure. 
Sunday came, and after church parade and service, 
after a substantial dinner of turkey and plum-duff in 
the cabin, the cadets came on deck. It was the second 
mate’s watch on deck this day, and the members of the 
port watch went below to get what rest they could, con- 
sidering the heat. The mate appeared on the poop, 
armed with the grains — the harpoon for spearing 
dolphins — and betook himself forward, where he dis- 
appeared in the apron at the heel of the bowsprit. The 
boys had grown familiar to this form of sport by now, 
and did not trouble to go for’ard to watch. There was 
little to do but hang aimlessly about the decks, stow 
away in shady corners and read, or swap interminable 
yarns. 

The big ’Badian negro was seated on the rail out- 
side the galley door; every now and then his deep- 
chested laugh rang along the decks. He was whittling 
a chunk of wood into the likeness of a canoe, using 
for the purpose an evil-looking knife. 

“ Wonder what that is over there ? ” said Roy, point- 
ing to where an insignificant black triangle showed on 
the surface of the glassy water. 

“Piece of wreckage, I should say,” remarked Syd 
carelessly. “Look here, if Neptune comes aboard when 
we cross the Line ” 

“Halliday, nip up to the mainyard and overhaul 
that leachline,” shouted the second officer from the 
break of the poop. Roy looked at the limp mainsail. 
The flapping of the canvas had broken the stop o£ 


no 


Sons of the Sea 

the gear, and the starboard side of the sail was drawn 
tautly up by the rope. 

“Got a bit of twine?” he asked Syd. “Aye, aye, 
sir,” he shouted to the officer. Twine was found, and 
with a piece of it in his pocket, up aloft Roy went. 
He reached the mainyard and passed out to the yard- 
arm easily, for he was an expert hand aloft by this 
time. He stopped the rope to its block, hauling up 
the slack; and then, having done his work, looked 
about him. 

There was nothing to be seen but the glassy sea and 
the copper sky. Nothing, save that here and there a 
flash broke the smooth surface, as a fish leaped into 
the air. A few whirls and bubbles showed in the ship’s 
wake; Roy could see the helmsman leaning idly over 
the wheel. The red shirt the negro sailor was wearing 
gave a splash of colour to the ship beneath him. Roy 
yawned widely, and became aw T are that the sun was, if 
anything, hotter up here than down on deck. He 
looked abeam, and saw the black triangle he had 
noticed before; it had moved slightly from its previous 
position. Suddenly a queer choking sensation, came 
over him ; the sun was glinting on the water in the 
immediate vicinity of that triangle, and he could discern 
the outline of something — something that was very big 
and shaped like a fish. 

“A shark!” he thought, and his breath came 
hurriedly. It was the first sea monster he had seen. 
There it was, lurking evilly beneath the surface, lying 
in wait for whatever should come its way. It was a 
huge brute, eighteen feet long at least; and Roy 
imagined what it would be like to feel its teeth meet in 
his flesh. 

He laughed the momentary feeling of faintness 


Ill 


Two Narrow Squeaks 

away and moved inwards along the yard. It was un- 
fortunate for him that a sailor, working on the footrope 
the previous day, had liberally besmeared the new ser- 
vice with grease. For as Roy’s foot touched the 
greased surface it slipped; he had not secured a firm 
hold of the jackstay, as the ship was perfectly motion- 
less, and before one might say knife, Roy was dropping 
straight down through the air. 

He struck the water squarely, at a distance of some- 
thing like twenty feet from the ship’s hull; and his 
cry was ringing in the air as the waters closed over 
his head. He came to the surface again and struck 
out blindly — away from the hull, not towards it; his eyes 
were full of water, and he could not see plainly. More- 
over, the sudden fall had somewhat stunned him, but 
after a minute he realised that matters were not so bad 
as they might have been. The water was warm, very 
pleasant, indeed; he struck out afresh, for he had picked 
up swimming a little. 

“Halliday, swim to the side,” he heard the second 
officer’s voice command curtly. And then, a moment 
later : “ Shark ! shark ! ” rang out across the water to 
his startled ears. That dread sound paralysed him. 
Syd had slipped below as Roy left the deck, afraid, 
maybe, that a little task would be found for him to 
perform, Sunday notwithstanding ; and he did not know 
what was happening until he heard the warning cry of 
“ Shark ! ” At once he rushed on deck, and leaped to 
the rail. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. 
Roy was struggling weakly in churned-up foam, mak- 
ing from the ship instead of towards it; and heading 
straight towards him, moving with the speed of light, 
came that awful triangular fin. 

“Brunton, go below and fetch a rifle — sharp’s the 


112 


Sons of the Sea 

word,” volleyed Mr. Seymour. “Aft, the watch, swing 
out the quarter-boat.” Syd joined his hands together 
above his head, possessed by a wild desire to leap in 
to Roy’s assistance, but before he could put his plan 
into execution he was dragged backwards by a powerful 
hand. 

“You can’t do anything, youngster,” said Raymond 
quietly. “Away you go for the rifle.” But the man at 
the wheel had already dashed below. 

The men came trooping aft to the boat and cast it 
loose; valuable time was flying fast; Roy’s death 
seemed assured. The rifle would arrive too late to 
save — in time, perhaps, to avenge. And then, whilst 
men held their breath, watching fascinatedly the 
stealthy rush of that sinister fin through the placid sea, 
something flashed from the rail alongside the galley 
door. There was a splash. Someone shouted “Snow- 
ball ! Snowball! ” 

“Quick with that boat,” roared Seymour, throwing 
off his coat, as if determined to leap in himself to the 
rescue. But long before the boat could even be lowered 
to the rail the thing was over. 

The shark had circled in towards the ship, as if 
purposing to intercept Roy’s escape, by cutting him 
off from his base. Roy still struggled, though feebly 
now, for his strength was failing him fast. And the 
negro, with his terrible knife between his teeth, was 
swimming like a seal to place himself between the boy 
and the shark. It was a race between man and fish; 
who would win ? 

Syd, chained to the spot, saw the whole thing happen 
as it might have appeared on a cinematograph screen. 
He saw a flash of white show as the shark turned on its 
back; he saw the negro literally hurl himself forward, 



‘ f It was a race between man and fish; which would win? ” 
(see fage 112). 






Two Narrow Squeaks 113 

he saw Snowball’s arm raised; then there was a smother 
of whirling foam, a threshing tumult, and the white 
foam grew tinged with crimson. 

“ Whose blood ? ” men asked breathlessly of one 
another. There arose another turbulent threshing; a 
moment after the water was still, and the keel of the 
boat was afloat. Seymour leaped bodily into the stern- 
sheets and gave the word to pull like mad for the spot ; 
but ere the boat reached the scene the waters were 
calm. Snowball was supporting Roy with one hand, 
in the other he held a knife, and of the shark there was 
no trace to be seen. 

Be sure the men lost no time in hauling the pair 
aboard; be sure they pulled like demons back to the 
ship. Snowball treated the matter coolly enough. 

“In my country, ’way dere in Barbados, dat happy 
place,” he said, “we killum shark so-fashion for fun. 
I swim underneat’ him an’ rip him belly up wiv my 
knife — so.” He illustrated the action, and showed his 
white teeth in a monstrous grin. “S’pose I no’ knife 
him, li’l boy make shark him breakbux, no? ” 

It was a narrow shave in very truth; a moment’s 
hesitation on the negro’s part must have meant a 
terrible death for Roy. But all was well that ended 
well; and when, after the lapse of a few minutes, the 
shark’s dead body rose to the surface, with a monstrous 
gash along its underside, the negro went aft and 
entreated the second officer to allow him to secure the 
corpse, for the purpose of making a walking stick out of 
its backbone — a permission that was granted readily 
enough. 

That night Roy went aft to the steward and obtained 
from him a quantity of tobacco, which he presented to 
Snowball awkwardly. 

I 


n4 Sons of the Sea 

“It isn’t much,” he said. “But it’s all I can get 
at present. But when I tell my father he’ll reward 
you.” 

“Reward,” laughed Snowball, showing his teeth 
and the whites of his eyes. “I don’t want no reward, 
li’l boy. I get a fine walkin ’-stick outer Mistah Shark, 
an’ when I go to Barbados, I cut dem black niggah 
fellers dat court my Mirandy, you bet.” 

Roy laughed naturally, not so much at the black’s 
words as at his grimaces, but his heart was very full. 


CHAPTER IX 

Crossing the Line 

There was a strange air of secrecy pervading the Cape 
Horn . The slate, which was always fixed up on the 
poop skylight after the day’s run had been worked 
out, bore the inscription: Lat. o° 25' North; Long. 
29 0 27' W. There was a crisp breeze blowing, for the 
ship had picked up the south-east Trades, and was 
blowing merrily along, with every rag of canvas set 
alow and aloft, and the curl of foam before her speed- 
bow was big enough for a steamer. They said that the 
Cape Horn would cross the Line at five o’clock at latest; 
and Raymond and the other oldsters had warned the 
youngsters that Neptune still existed, that he was still 
in the habit of demanding toll from those who came new 
to his dominions beneath the Equator. 

Syd and Roy laughed, but despite their mirth they 
felt something of anxiety and apprehension. Neptune 
was a myth, he had never existed, but something was 
certainly going to happen. The men cracked peculiar 
jokes at the cadets’ expense; they threw out lurid hints 
of adventures soon to come ; and at four o’clock, instead 
of the boatswain rousing the watch aft to labour, he 
sat down on the sill of his door and filled a pipe. 

But though not driven to work the crew busied them- 
selves with uncommon activity. They dragged aft a 
spare mainsail, and triced it up beneath the boat-skids 

“5 


n6 Sons of the Sea 

over the half-deck; and after they had made all things 
secure they brought a section of hosepipe from forward, 
and fixed it to the metal pipe that ran beneath the rail. 
Then water began to gush forth into the triced-up sail, 
but at this stage of the proceedings, Syd, Roy and the 
others were interrupted in their observations. 

“Rummy way of washing down,” said Syd, who had 
grown very familiar with the daily custom of sluicing 
the decks with crisp salt water and slashing with brooms. 
Barefooted, their pants rolled up above the knee, the 
boys had come to look on it as one of the most enjoy- 
able parts of the day’s work to wash decks ; but this was 
different. 

“Looks like a bath — a swimming bath,” said Roy. 

“Now then, youngsters; come along,” said Ray- 
mond. “Here, Briggs, snaffle them — all you first- 
voyagers come along.” Roy broke away and leaped 
aloft, but he was not allowed to remain there. Two big 
cadets darted after him and dragged him down before 
he reached the top; kicking and struggling, he was 
borne along to the sailmaker’s room, and was roughly 
thrust within. He found there Syd, the other cadets 
who had never crossed the Line before, Harry Longton, 
and also the cook’s mate, a sallow-faced individual of 
whom they had seen but little during the voyage, 
though rumour had it that he was a runaway convict. 

Hyatt’s teeth were chattering loudly in his head, 
and when he did contrive to speak his voice was full 
of tears. 

“What will they do to us?” he asked tremulously. 
“Will it hurt?” He was quite a youngster, a regular 
mother’s darling, and whatever of spirit he might have 
possessed had been broken by Briggs’s treatment. 

“Not it,” said Syd loudly, as much with the intention 


Crossing the Line i*7 

of keeping up his own spirits as of reassuring his com- 
panions. “It’s all a game.” 

“If they lay hands on me,” said Cummins, the 
cook’s mate, darkly, “I’ll make ’em sorry for them- 
selves. Look at here.” He showed the hilt of a big 
cook’s knife, and his face was malevolent. 

“But you wouldn’t — you wouldn’t use a knife?” 
gasped Syd and Roy together. “Why, it’s only 
Dagos who do that ! ” 

“ Dagos or no, the man who lays hands on me gets 
his life-blood let out,” said Cummins. “Just you see 
if he don’t.” 

The boys composed themselves to await events with 
such patience as they might command. They heard 
the constant passing and repassing of feet, the trundling 
of heavy objects, occasional loud laughter. So a clear 
half-hour passed, and then : 

“Out you come, my sons,” boomed the sailmaker’s 
voice at the door; the key was turned in the lock, and 
close on a dozen of the crew and the senior cadets, 
hauled them forth. 

“You lemme alone,” growled Cummins, his hand 
shifting to the back of his belt. But he was snatched 
out on deck, and without ceremony was bundled aft, 
as were those who had recently been his fellow- 
prisoners. 

Right to the break of the poop they were hurried, 
and kept there under a close guard of seamen, armed 
with belaying-pins, who threatened nameless tortures 
if anyone attempted resistance or fight. Barely had 
they had time to use their eyes in the growing dark- 
ness when there came from somewhere in the direction 
of the bow a long, stentorian hail : 

“Ship ahoy! What ship is that?” 


n8 Sons of the Sea 

“The Cape Horn, from Poolhaven for Hong Kong,” 
roared Captain Branksome through a megaphone. 
“Who hails?” 

“King Neptune hails. Have you any first-voyagers 
aboard you, cap’n?” 

“Yes, half a dozen or so; prime ones.” 

“Then give me your assistance to come aboard; 
they must pay their footing.” 

“Mr. Seymour, be good enough to back the main- 
yard,” said the skipper. “If Neptune wishes to visit 
us, we mustn’t deny him, or he’ll send us foul winds 
for the rest of the voyage.” 

A party of men broke off and ran the mainyard 
round; the ship’s way was stopped. And then arose 
the sound of a full-voiced chanty. The boys’ eyes 
started almost from their heads. They knew that 
this was anything but real. There came in sight four 
men dressed as policemen, helmets and all complete, 
and these men tailed on to ropes that were attached 
to an old gun-carriage. Seated on this vehicle was 
a figure which none might recognise, Neptune himself, 
and a regular royal king at that. His head was 
covered with flaxen hair that descended to his waist; 
the hair was surmounted by a gorgeous crown of tin. 
A beard to correspond with the hair drooped to his 
breast ; he was clad in a robe of royal crimson, trimmed 
with fur, and in his right hand he bore a portentous 
trident as sceptre of his dominions. His wife tripped 
mincingly after him : Aphrodite, the spirit of the foam, 
radiantly lovely, with flowing flaxen hair, low-necked 
dress and sweeping train. She had handmaidens to 
the number of five, and the toilettes of these nymphs 
of the sea were fearful and wonderful. 

“Look, that girl’s wearing my blanket,” chattered 


Crossing the Line ^9 

Hvatt, indicating one who wore raiment of surpassing 
colour. 

“Silence amongst the tyros; no one speaks but Nep- 
tune and me,” bellowed Captain Branksome fiercely. 

Following the handmaidens came the doctor, armed 
with a huge box, labelled in vast letters: “Pills.” He 
wore a silk hat and spectacles; he, too, was bearded 
and terrible-seeming. Following him again came the 
barber, armed with a razor as big as himself, com- 
posed of hoop-iron, and with him his clerk, bearing 
the lather-pot, which looked suspiciously like a wooden 
deck-bucket. 

Singing boisterously, the strange procession drew 
up at the break of the poop, and formed into a 
crescent there. 

“Give ye good luck, cap’n,” said Neptune in a 
voice that might have come direct from the cave of 
the winds. 

“Good day, your Majesty,” responded Captain 
Branksome. “I am honoured by your presence. I’ve 
got a fine crop of raw material for you, too — six boys 
and a man.” 

Syd heard Cummins growl : “They don’t lay hands 
on me.” 

“Then we’ll initiate ’em right off, because my 
hearties here are sick of salt water, cap’n, and they’re 
wanting a bit of a fling. We’ll start with the man 
first.” 

Cummins had made himself cordially disliked, and 
now he was bustled forward with small ceremony. He 
made no hostile demonstration at the moment, but 
allowed himself to be placed before Neptune and 
questioned. 

“Name?” 


120 


Sons of the Sea 

“John Cummins — blast you!” 

“Order — you’ll be gagged if you ain’t civil.” 

Syd recognised Neptune’s voice; it was that of 
Johnson, a big sailor of the port watch. 

“Put him through it, hearties,” said Neptune; and 
the doctor stepped forward. 

Two men held Cummins’s arms as he struggled, 
and the doctor hammered his chest fairly hard with 
a caulking mallet. 

“Heart seems sound,” muttered the doctor. “But 
he’ll be none the worse for a powder and a pill.” 

He extracted from the box on his arm a paper 
that contained about an ounce of powder, and the man 
was compelled to swallow it. A pill as big as a 
pigeon’s egg followed, and then : 

“Up with him!” commanded Neptune. And as 
he spoke Cummins let out a savage yell and drew 
forth his knife. 

“I’ll slit up the first man who touches me,” he 
snarled. “I mean it!” 

But he was not prepared for the thoroughness of 
British seamen when they are enjoying themselves. 
Someone gripped him from behind by the shoulder, 
a hand caught his wrist and dragged it backwards, 
another hand tore the knife from his fingers and flung 
it overboard. 

“Knives — eh?” said Neptune. “Give him a double 
dose for that, barber’s mate.” 

“Aye, aye, your Majesty,” said the man with the 
lather-pot. 

Willy-nilly, struggle he never so fiercely, Cummins 
was hoisted to a stool at the edge of the great tank 
of salt water, and the barber’s mate began to lather. 
He used a brush as big as a mop, and applied the 


Crossing the Line 121 

nauseating compound indiscriminately to face, head 
and neck, until Cummins bore a likeness to a negro. 

Every time he opened his mouth to protest the 
brush was thrust into that opening, and when he was 
scientifically lathered, the barber whetted his formid- 
able razor on a strop of canvas, and began to shave. 
The sufferer yelled and screamed; he struck out with 
his feet; but the barber went on shaving. The edge 
of his razor was notched like that of a saw, and he 
was in no mood to spare pains. When it was deemed 
that Cummins was sufficiently shaved, he was relathered 
and shaved all over again, and then, as he raved and 
foamed, he was capsized backwards into the tank, and 
left to the mercy of the sea-nymphs, who scrubbed him 
with brooms, hove bucketfuls of water over him, thrust 
him back when he tried to scramble out, and generally 
made his life miserable until it was time to attend to 
the next case, which was Sydney Brunton. 

Syd answered the questions that were put to him 
fearlessly, because he could see a twinkle in Neptune’s 
eyes. He swallowed the powder and the pill — the 
latter almost made him sick, and then felt himself 
hoisted to the stool. He had donned an old shirt on 
Raymond’s advice ere the proceedings began. 

“Don’t open your mouth, and shut your eyes,” 
commanded the barber’s clerk, in Raymond’s voice. 

The caution was well-timed, for Syd had been on 
the point of gasping; now, however, he kept his lips 
firmly closed, and felt the sticky, disgusting mess 
plastered all over his face. But he was let off lightly, 
and the shaving was not too painful. When he was 
capsized into the tank he received some rough handling, 
it is true, but it was nothing compared with what 
had been Cummins’s portion, and after a very few 


122 


Sons of the Sea 

minutes the lad was allowed to scramble out. He 
waited there, dripping, until Roy Halliday was tumbled 
into the tank, and then he got some of his own back, 
for he leaped into the tank, and painstakingly scrubbed 
his chum with a broom until Roy roared for mercy. 

But the merriment began to die down after a while, 
although Harry Longton gave it a fillip by breaking 
from his captors’ hands and flying aloft like a monkey, 
leading his pursuers a wonderful dance, up the rigging 
to the royal masthead, down the royal stay to the fore- 
topmast; up again and down the fore royal stay to 
the jibboom; whilst the policemen pursued him like 
hounds a hare. Finally they ran him down on the 
brace bumpkins aft, and, laughing and breathless, 
hauled him to the stool, where he underwent the ordeal 
by lather and razor as the others had done. 

“Now, boys, clean yourselves,’’ ordered the second 
mate, as the steward appeared on the quarterdeck with 
grog for all hands. 

Roy and Syd begged hot water from the cook, 
and contrived to get the worst of the filthy lather off 
without difficulty. It was composed in the main of 
tar and slush from the galley ; it stank abominably 
and tasted abominably; but soon they were passably 
clean again, changed into dry garments, and able to 
take their share of what was going on. 

When they emerged on deck they found the in- 
vaders enjoying themselves to the full. They had 
taken possession of the after-hatch, on which they had 
enthroned Neptune, and with his wife and handmaidens 
were dancing a wild hornpipe about him. Every now 
and then a terrific deluge of water would descend 
from aloft full on Neptune’s head, and, looking up, 
Syd saw a couple of cadets stationed on the mizen 


123 


Crossing the Line 

topsail yard, armed with a draw-bucket, which they 
let down into the sea and hauled up dripping full, 
emptying it carefully on Neptune’s head every time it 
reached their hands. 

The dance ceased, the men lined up for a song, 
when suddenly there was a cracking and a straining 
aloft ; the ship heeled wildly, the creaking was suc- 
ceeded by a crash and the roar of parted canvas. 

“Quit fooling; clew up the fore-royal!’’ bellowed 
Mr. Barker, who had been a sarcastic spectator of this 
horseplay ; and in a trice Neptune threw away his 
crown and wig, his wife bundled her skirts about her 
waist, and the watches ran forward. 

It was only a passing squall, however, but by the 
time the ship was trimmed to cope with whatever might 
come, it was close on eight, and revelry ceased. 

“Well,” said Sydney, washing himself again prior 
to turning in, “no one can say we haven’t crossed the 
Line in style, anyhow. But I’m jolly glad it’s over.” 

And so thought the other victims, especially Hyatt, 
who had been somewhat unmercifully handled, because, 
owing to his fright, he had buried his teeth in the 
hands of one of the sea-nymphs. The unfortunate 
youngster cried himself to sleep that night, and dreamed 
terrible dreams, because he had seen that Bully Briggs’s 
hand was bandaged, and he feared greatly lest he should 
have aroused his oppressor’s further enmity. 


CHAPTER X 

Running the Easting Down 

The Cape Horn flew through the south-east Trades 
like a wild thing, bowing and curtseying graciously 
to the even sweep of the Atlantic waves. The days 
were flying past as on wings, for each was so full 
of work and interest that it seemed barely to have 
begun ere it was concluded ; the days grew into weeks, 
Sundays appeared to happen every second day. Syd 
and Roy were bronzed and hearty by now; they had 
grown and become more manly, their muscles had 
hardened, they were physically as fit as boys well 
could be. Their appetites were enormous, for the 
clean open life they lived — they were in the open air 
for practically fourteen hours out of every twenty-four 
— made for sound healthiness, and they were rapidly 
taking rank as promising sailors. 

They had learnt much in the months that had 
elapsed since the Cape Horn left Poolhaven ; they had 
learnt how to lay their weight on a rope, how to race 
aloft to a roaring royal, how to hand it with prompti- 
tude and skill ; they knew how to splice and knot ; 
they could sew canvas, and perform a thousand other 
duties. They even understood the whole art of holy- 
stoning : a task they did not like, for it consisted in 
kneeling on the deck and shoving a great piece of 

124 


Running the Easting Down 125 

sandstone up and down the planking until it was as 
white as the driven snow. 

Raymond and the older cadets treated them no 
longer as children ; they admitted them to their councils, 
and showed them a certain amount of respect. In 
addition to the actual manual labours of shipboard, 
they had been initiated into other mysteries : the work- 
ing of the ship’s daily run by dead-reckoning, the 
fudging of a meridian altitude, the intricacies of the 
compass. They were allowed to steer in fine weather 
and in the daytime, and they had come to understand 
the proud feel of the man who realises that for the 
time he has complete control of a throbbing fabric 
of two thousand tons and more. 

But life was not all work. They worked hard, it 
is true, but perhaps they played still harder. For you 
may not keep twenty healthy boys together without 
something happening, or something else, and practical 
joking was as common as salt water. Some of these 
jokes, it is to be feared, were in the nature of reprisals, 
as, for instance, when Syd and Roy were sent by 
Bully Briggs down to the captain to ask for permission 
to put a long splice in the poop downhaul — a wholly 
fictitious rope. They were chased up the companion- 
way by the captain, who thought them merely im- 
pertinent, and Bully Briggs rocked on his sea-chest 
when they came into the half-deck, panting and 
indignant. 

“Right oh!” said Roy, watching him. “Right 
oh ! But we’ll see who gets the last laugh out of 
this.” And he and Syd laid their heads together. 

Opportunity came sooner than they had hoped for; 
within two days, indeed, of the futile errand below. 
There had been a slight falling off in the invigorating 


126 


Sons of the Sea 

rush of the wind; the Cape Horn seemed to check in 
her impetuous stride, as though gathering her energies 
together for the coming plunge into the dangers of 
the Easting. For some time now the nights had been 
growing colder, so that sleeping on deck was a diffi- 
culty; but on this night it grew perceptibly warmer, 
and Bully Briggs expressed his intention of “dossing 
it out on deck.’* Syd and Roy had the first watch, 
and Syd the first “time.” Roy watched his oppor- 
tunity and stowed himself away under the break of 
the poop, where, with his blanket drawn closely about 
him, he slept peacefully. Four bells was struck, and 
Lorrimer, a second-year cadet, relieved Syd on the 
poop. 

Syd walked briskly along the quarterdeck towards 
the cadets’ quarters. As usual, after two hours on 
the poop, with nothing to do but walk up and down, 
he was ravenously hungry ; but, passing the after-hatch, 
he saw a sight that caused his appetite to vanish. 
Bully Briggs was lying fast asleep on the tarpaulin, 
his face upturned to the sky, snoring like the creaking 
of a four-inch rope. 

“I’d like Roy to see him,” thought Syd, man- 
fully repressing a strong desire to pop the end of 
the main brace in the open mouth. “I wonder where 
he is.” 

He had some difficulty in finding his chum, but 
ultimately tripped over him where he lay. 

“ Whassermarrer ? ” demanded Roy ungraciously. 

Syd dropped down beside him and shook him hard. 

“Listen, listen, you sleepy ape. Bully Briggs is 
at our mercy. He’s been given into our hands ” 

“Eh, what’s that? Take me to him — take me to 
him,” said Roy, now wide awake. 


Running the Easting Down 127 

Stealthily the two conspirators stole towards the 
after-hatch, and saw Briggs, in all his manly, pimply 
beauty, snoring defiance to the sky. 

“What shall we do? It’s too big a chance to be 
missed,” hissed Roy, regarding their victim tenderly. 
“Oh, you lovely one; you mother’s angel boy! Paint 
his face again ? ” 

“No good,” quoth Syd. “He’ll find it out before 
it’s daylight. We must do something, though; he’s 
frightening the sharks with that snoring.” 

He pondered for a moment and then lifted his 
head. 

“I’ve got it,” he chuckled. “Sweet Briggsey, dear, 
sweet Briggsey, whom I love, you shall receive a 
terrible shock and shall not know whence it came.” 

“Pooh, that’s Guy Fawkes,” scoffed Roy. “And 
we can’t blow him up. It would be a lark to tie a 
rocket to his leg and set it off, though. But we can’t 
get a rocket.” 

“What flits through my colossal intellect is some- 
what akin to a rocket,” said Syd pedantically. “Brains, 
my child, all brains. Duty before decency, Mr. Easy. 
Oh, you precious sleeping beauty ! ” 

He apostrophised the unconscious Briggs in this 
way for a clear minute, until Roy laid violent hands 
on him and demanded to be let into the secret. 

“You shall see. My brains, my giddy brains! A 
bucket and a rope; by my halidom, varlet, a bucket 
and a rope ! ” 

A faint glimmering of his idea crept into Roy’s 
brain. 

“There’s a spare gasket on top of the chicken 
coop,” he said. 

“Bring it hither, and with speed. We will apply 


128 


Sons of the Sea 

it to its foreordained uses,” chortled Syd, hardly able 
to stand for the laughter that rocked him. 

He himself stole to the bucket-racks beneath the 
poop and took possession of a bucket — an old one, 
fortunately. With this in his hand he crept back to 
the hatch, to meet Roy with the gasket already cast 
adrift. 

“Reeve it through a scupperhole,” whispered Syd. 

Roy, as active as a monkey, scrambled over the 
rail, and, hanging by one hand, inserted the end of 
the gasket through the scupperhole. Syd seized it 
and carried it across the deck. A moment later the 
rope was knotted securely to Bully Briggs’s leg. 

“Now for the bucket,” whispered the ringleader 
of this pretty plot. 

The bucket was hitched firmly to the other end of 
the rope. Both boys sped to the side of the ship, and 
awaited the crucial moment. The Cape Horn was 
romping at a speed of a clear eight knots through the 
water, and making a good deal of fuss about it. 

“Let her go,” said Syd, and the bucket flashed 
overboard on the word. 

What happened happened swiftly. The bucket 
dropped into the sea and promptly filled with water, 
forming a very effective drag. The ship’s pace caused 
the rope to tighten with the twang of a harp string, 
and the ship careened graciously at that moment. 
Instantly Bully Briggs shot from the hatch to the 
deck, a drop of a couple of feet ; instantly he was 
dragged relentlessly to the side. Still half asleep he 
kicked hard, but his foot only struck the iron bulwark 
plating. Then he awoke. 

“ Is it an avalanche ? ” he demanded of the night 
at large. 


Running the Easting Down 129 

Roy and Syd crouched behind the after end of 
the hatch and shook with laughter. They could hear 
the bully’s exclamations of disgust, and though they 
could not see all that was transpiring they yet had 
a very fair idea of what was happening. Briggs was 
jammed in the scupper by the drag of the bucket, and 
his scattered wits would not serve him properly as 
yet; but in a moment or two he seemed to realise the 
thing that had occurred. He reached down and tugged 
at the knots; he tugged again. The gasket slipped 
through the scupperhole and disappeared; with it went 
the bucket, and Briggs was free. 

“Cave!” whispered Roy. “Here, my blanket.” 

When Briggs, fully awake and smarting with wrath, 
instituted a close search of the deck, he found nothing 
more suspicious than two youths soundly asleep be- 
neath the same blanket. 

During these brisk, careless days of the South-east 
Trades the boys of the Cape Horn tasted the keenest 
enjoyment of their lives. They knew, the oldsters by 
experience, the youngsters by the tales they had heard, 
that much serious work awaited them down the Easting. 
That long run from the Cape of Good Hope to Cape 
Leeuwin spelt gale after booming gale ; they knew 
that sleep would be an uncertain quantity; the ship 
would lave herself recklessly with the chill seas that 
here sweep clean round the world. It was almost 
midwinter, too; the weather would soon be bitterly 
cold, and so they made their hay whilst the sun shone, 
and a large book might be filled with a narration of 
their exploits. 

They “slung the monkey” and indulged in much 
riotous horseplay ; they instituted games of follow-my- 
leader, when the boy chosen for leader would take 
J 


130 


Sons of the Sea 

them a merry dance all over the ship, scrambling aloft 
by the shrouds, sliding down the backstays and stays, 
dancing out to the yardarms without taking hold, 
shinning down the sail-leaches — running a thousand 
risks without a thought of fear. Captain Branksome 
and his officers let them do it, knowing that fearless- 
ness aloft is one of the greatest things to be desired 
in a sailor, and it was seldom the boys had their 
enjoyment marred by any outside interference. Two 
things only Captain Branksome objected to : foul lan- 
guage and meanness; and these, whenever he encoun- 
tered them, he put down with undeviating firmness. 

During all this time Forbes had held his hand. 
The sailor was cordially disliked by his shipmates, and 
treated by them with scant respect, though, as he was 
a powerful man and rumoured to be a dangerous 
fighter, no one quarrelled with him. But though 
quiescent, the A.B. was but biding his time. Sooner 
or later an opportunity would come to put his dastardly 
plan into execution; the dark nights of the Easting 
would afford him ample scope for action. 

But all unknown to him Sammy Longstaffe kept a 
careful watch upon him in the intervals of his duties, 
and though the ordinary seaman had no actual grounds 
for his suspicions, he yet was certain in his own mind 
that Forbes was up to no good. 

And so the Cape Horn tore down towards the Cape 
of Storms, and the Cape pigeons and albatrosses 
swarmed to meet her impetuous progress. Daily the 
wind strengthened, until it seemed as though a very 
average gale was blowing, but the wind was shifting 
towards the west; in a little while, when the ship bore 
away on the long eastern run, it would be dead astern ; 
and Captain Branksome, anxious, as all good ship- 


Running the Easting Down 131 

masters are anxious, to make a smart passage, was not 
disposed to touch a rope or start a sheet. 

There is no time to enter into intricate details of 
all that transpired during these days, for it seemed as 
though the Cape Horn were in for a very monotonous 
voyage when all was said and done. But there were 
adventures a many awaiting her, although none of the 
crew suspected it. She sped hot-footed to meet what- 
ever the future held, and jollity and good-fellowship 
reigned aboard. 

For the Cape Horn was by way of being a happy 
ship, as the ’Badian nigger termed her. The captain 
was not a bully, and though Mr. Barker was some- 
thing of a martinet, the officers in the main were 
quite humane. They knew what work was to be done, 
and they insisted on having it done promptly and well, 
but nothing was farther from their thoughts than to 
hustle the crew about unnecessarily and so arouse their 
worst feelings. Captain Branksome knew that in the 
coming weeks he would need his crew’s utmost loyalty; 
there would be times when the lives of all aboard 
depended on their smartness and activity, and to face 
the dangers of the Easting with a sullen, half-mutinous 
crew was not in his scheme of life at all. 

The ship was very beautiful just now. They had 
stripped her of her fair-weather canvas, bent aloft for 
the run through the Tropics, and now she was clothed 
in her rough-weather suit of sails — new, strong canvas, 
fit to last through any blow that Heaven could 
send, so it would appear. Each day was given to 
the improving of her fighting equipment; ropes were 
examined carefully, old ones were condemned and new 
ones rove; chafing-gear was replenished, weak places 
in her decks were caulked with supreme care. Like 


132 


Sons of the Sea 

a skilful general marshalling his forces for a battle to 
the death, Captain Branksome left nothing to chance, 
and day by day the force of the wind increased. Seen 
from aft the Cape Horn was like a monstrous living 
thing as she slung her bulk headlong through the 
long-backed combers. She no longer carried her 
fore-and-afters, for they were unnecessary, but up to 
her fairylike royals she was clothed fully, and every 
sail was swollen with the thrilling strength of the 
booming wind that piled before it the cream-topped 
racing giants of the sea. 

There was a suggestion of purposeful striving about 
her; with the wind well aft, as it was now, she was 
sailing her best, and her decks were comparatively 
dry. There was exhilaration in the freshening gale; 
men walked the decks briskly, and answered shouted 
commands with willing eagerness for work. 

Syd and Roy began to taste the full satisfaction of 
the sailor’s life. Previously, when the wind had been 
anything more than a capful, as in the Bay of Biscay, 
they had been tyros, clumsy and ignorant; but now 
they were sailors, able to take part and lot in whatever 
work was toward. They knew their way about even 
in the dark; there was not a rope of all the countless 
ropes that they did not know well. 

They flew past Tristan da Cunha like a liner, 
raising the little romantic island from the sea mists, 
bringing it abeam and losing it astern, and now they 
were fairly in the Easting. The wind increased con- 
siderably ; the creaking and straining aloft grew more 
and more pronounced. Captain Branksome and his 
officers gazed anxiously at the bending spars. 

But they were loath to reduce the Cape Horn's 
speed ; she was reeling off the knots in a style to make 


Running the Easting Down *33 

the mouth water. Every two hours the cadets of the 
watch mustered on the poop for the purpose of heaving 
the log : one boy took the sand-glass, another held 
the big reel of thin line; the watch-officer took a few 
flakes and the log-ship in his hand and flung them 
over the stern. The ship tore on and the first knot 
flashed over the taffrail. 

“Time! ” shouted the officer; and the boy with the 
sand-glass reversed it. As the last grain dropped the 
boy yelled “Stop ! ” and the officer nipped the roaring 
line to the rail, groping for the knots that should tell 
the distance run, and then a trifling sum made all 
things square. 

“Fourteen and an onion,” was the usual report. 

Hearing, Captain Branksome rubbed his hands glee- 
fully together. The Cape Horn was about to make a 
record passage, he would have it; and with that end 
in view he headed her farther south, where the winds 
might be expected to be fresher still. As it was 
now midwinter, there was scant fear of encountering 
floating ice; the great wandering bergs — the sailor’s 
terror — were fast-locked to their parent ice in the 
grim Antarctic; the seas were wide open for their 
progress. 

“My word, but it’s pretty gorgeous, isn’t it?” said 
Syd to Raymond, as they paced the deck alongside the 
cadets’ quarters on an evening when the wind bellowed 
mightily. 

“It’s the finest life in the world,” said the elder 
cadet gravely. “But it’s a thousand pities more British 
boys don’t think so. I don’t know why, but boys can’t 
be bothered with the sea nowadays. Not British boys, 
that is. They want soft jobs ashore, and the result 
is that foreigners step in to man our ships, and there 


134 


Sons of the Sea 

you are. Our merchant service used to be the 
country’s pride; in a little while it will be England’s 
disgrace.” 

“But there must be English sailors,” remonstrated 
Syd. “We can’t help being a race of seafarers.” 

“That’s all you know about it, my son. You’ve 
formed your opinions from the Cape Horn. She’s 
practically all British, fore and aft — captain, officers 
and crew. She’s a good specimen of what British 
ships might be, but for every one like her you’ll find 
hundreds without a single true-blue Briton aboard. 
It’s a fact. I’ve heard of ships, I’ve been aboard ’em, 
where every man from the skipper down is foreign — 
Dutch or Dago. And it might be so different, too. 
I don’t know who’s to blame. I’m only a youngster, 
and don’t pretend to have a lot of brains ; but someone’s 
at fault somewhere. If our merchant service were 
manned by Britons it would be the finest service in the 
world — yes, not even excepting the Royal Navy.” 

“Well, why don’t Britons go to sea now?” de- 
manded Syd. 

“I wish I knew; they’re losing their pluck, maybe. 
Losing their pride in their birthright — getting lazy. 
Going to sea means that they won’t get some few of 
the comforts they get ashore : they can’t pick up an 
evening paper with the betting news when they want 
it; they can’t go in their thousands to see a football 
match. They’ll find out their mistake some time, though, 
when there’s a big war. They’ll find the merchant 
service fail them, because there aren’t enough Britishers 
to man it and bring them food, and then, when they 
are starving, they’ll blame everybody but themselves. 
Pah I it’s enough to make anyone sick.” 

“Sail on the starboard bow, sir!” came a long- 


Running the Easting Down i35 

drawn hail from forward; and the two boys moved to 
the rail. 

It was not yet dark, though another half-hour would 
shroud the world in impenetrable gloom. Away on 
the bow the lads could see a speck that might have 
been a sea-bird, save that it did not alter its position 
greatly, and after a lapse of only a few minutes the 
Cape Horn drew up on the unknown. Little by little 
it grew in magnitude, and when Syd fetched Raymond’s 
glasses from the half-deck and focused them he was 
able to make out the outlines of a small barque, of 
not more than seven hundred tons at the outside. She 
was diving through the seas like a whale; she was 
clothed to her topgallants in spray-blackened canvas; 
the waves surged up astern and seemed bent on over- 
whelming her; but always they fell short and dashed 
themselves into white and helpless fury behind the 
jerking counter. 

“She’s in for a dusting,” said Raymond. “Plucky 
little thing, isn’t she ? ” 

Syd drank in the glorious spectacle with hungry 
eyes. It was seeing such a sight as this that made him 
proud of being a sailor; there was the little barque, 
opening her broadside now to show her dainty sheer and 
her purposeful raking masts. 

“Aft here, and run up the ensign,” commanded the 
second officer; and Syd and Raymond went aft. They 
took the red ensign from its locker and bent it on to 
the halliards; they ran it up to the peak, where it 
streamed out gallantly on the gale, and the little barque 
curtsied joyously in the welter of foam abeam. Then 
something travelled swiftly up to her peak in turn, 
something blew stiffly on the breeze — Raymond slapped 
his thigh. 


136 


Sons of the Sea 

“There you are ! that’s a sight to make a man think 
there’s hope for the old country yet,” he said. For 
the little flag was British, as the ship was British; and 
though the waves might roll on rapaciously, the barque 
was still triumphant. 

“ ‘ F irst of the scattered legions, under a screaming sky, 

Dipping between the rollers, the English flag goes by,’” 

quoth Raymond piously. “That’s where you find it, 
bless it ! Just where the weather’s worst and the danger 
greatest; that’s the place for the British flag. I’m 
jolly glad I’m a Briton, Brunton, in spite of every- 
thing.” 

Up to the stranger’s peak now soared a string of 
bright-coloured bunting, and the second officer read the 
message off. 

“Get the register,” he said to Syd, who returned 
with the book, and there they found that the barque 
was the Wildfire, of Liverpool, six hundred and fifty 
tons register. Another hoist of bunting told them that 
she was bound for Port Adelaide. There were a few 
more signals; but already it was growing increasingly 
difficult to read the flags, and when the intimation was 
flashed that she was seventy days out from home the 
darkness fell completely. The Wildfire disappeared in 
the gloom, but a dull red light showed where she 
was; in time this dropped astern, and once again the 
Cape Horn was booming alone through a roaring world 
of anger. 

It was growing very cold now, but as the decks 
were comparatively dry, notwithstanding the fact that 
spray occasionally flew over the main braces, the boys 
were not at all miserable. Two days went by without 


Running the Easting Down i37 

anything of moment occurring; albatrosses swirled and 
circled round the flying ship’s trucks; Cape pigeons 
chattered and quarrelled in her wake over the scraps 
thrown overboard from the galley. And with every 
hour the wind increased in force, the cracklings and 
complainings aloft grew more pronounced. 

“We’ll have those royals and topgallants off her; 
she’s carrying more than she can stand,” said Captain 
Branksome to the second officer in Roy’s hearing, as 
he fought his way aft to the wheel-box to strike the bell. 
“Start on the mizen and fore, and let’s see how she 
feels then.” 

“Clew up fore and mizen royals!” shouted Mr. 
Seymour; and Roy dashed forward echoing the cry. 
It was not an all hands’ job yet, the watch could easily 
do the work; and the boatswain went to the fore-royal 
halliards at once, as Mr. Seymour slacked away on the 
mizen. Ten boys tailed on to the clewlines, and the 
after-yard rumbled down ; the clews were hauled tight 
to the yard, the spilling lines were snugged. 

“Clew up your topgallant sail,” ordered Seymour, 
throwing the halliards clear; and the next highest yard 
lumbered down to the accompaniment of a weird pully- 
hauly song sung by Raymond. 

“Up aloft and stow them.” 

“Now, Brunton and Halliday, up you come,” said 
Raymond, leaping into the rigging, and away they 
shot like squirrels. The wind beat them flat against 
the rigging; it snatched at their oilskins and seemed 
likely to tear them away ; Syd’s cap vanished like a wisp 
of smoke. The darkness above was full of loud 
thunder; sails were slamming and crashing mon- 
strously; the mast seemed to spring like a whip-stock. 
There were times when the boys were compelled to 


* 3 8 Sons of the Sea 

pause, utterly unable to proceed farther. But they 
watched their opportunities and fought steadily aloft, 
surmounting the futtocks, pausing for breath in the 
top, then up again, while the night rioted in anger 
about them. They could hear the never-ceasing mutter 
of the pursuing sea; they could see, looking downward, 
the ghostly wave-crests surge astern and gallop madly 
in pursuit ; they could feel the after-end of the ship rise 
high; they could feel the jar of the tortured rudder; 
they could see the driving bow plunge downwards 
recklessly into a watery chasm ; a moment later it roared 
upwards, and the bowsprit seemed to leap upwards in 
an agony to stab at the unseen sky. 

They were in the cross-trees, and close above them 
the topgallant sail flogged and slatted as though anxious 
to escape from the trammelling spilling lines. But they 
must fare them farther aloft still — let others hand the 
topgallant sail, their work lay on the royal yard. 

They reached the eyes of the rigging, and still they 
must climb perilously up a greasy chain, clawing at 
ropes and ties as best they might, working by instinct. 
A wild exultation possessed them ; they recked nothing 
of the danger that was everywhere about them. There 
was the royal, and that royal must be conquered ere 
they descended to the deck. 

Syd followed Raymond on to the yard and clung 
there breathless, the sail flogging him hard. The 
slender yard jerked and leaped like a mad thing, as if its 
one object in life was to fling them like plummets into 
space; but their fingers were trained by now; they 
gripped the slippery jackstays prehensilely ; they fought 
their way out towards the yardarm, and laughed in the 
teeth of the clamouring storm. 

“ Lay out, lay out ! ” roared Raymond, as Roy 


Running the Easting Down *39 

swung to the footrope. And as he spoke there was a 
report like a gunshot ; the half-seen sail blew out 
straight in front of them, and then, a trick of the wind 
helping, flew over their heads. Syd said that he was 
gone; but his knee crooked round a stirrup and he 
hung there for a clear second, his hands groping for a 
hold. The sail was smothering the yard, it was flog- 
ging him like a gigantic whip; ah! his fingers had 
secured a grip of the jackstay again. He reached out 
and tried to beat the sail down and out; he tried to 
gather it under his breast in the approved style; but 
it would not come, it was like a plate of steel. 

A rain squall threshed down out of the night and 
hardened the canvas still more; out towards the yard- 
arm the mighty balloon showed, and, let them work 
like fiends, they could not overcome it. The buntlines 
had carried away, and save for the clewlines the sail was 
adrift; nothing could be done from the deck to help 
them. 

“Mizen-royal, there!” came from the poop like 
a pistol-shot. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” yelled Raymond. 

“ What’s the matter aloft there ? ” 

“ Gear’s carried away, sir.” 

“Want any help?” 

“Not yet,” shrilled Raymond; “we’ll have a shot for 
it ourselves, sir.” 

There came an approving cry from below, and the 
three lads fought anew with the opposing sail. But 
though they tried never so gallantly they could not 
master it; let them secure a few feet of it and a fresh 
gust of wind would tear it carelessly from their fingers, 
to throw it roaring into the darkness. 

“Blest if I’m going to stick up here all night!” 


140 


Sons of the Sea 

cried Raymond. ‘‘Look out, you chaps!” He 
climbed in towards the bunt as the lads wondered, 
and disappeared. Then they saw him shinning up the 
chain tye to the very truck ; a moment afterwards some- 
thing rushed downwards over their heads; and then, 
before they understood what was afoot, Raymond was 
jockeying the weather yardarm. He had slid down the 
lift — a slender wire rope — carrying his life in his hand, 
for a single mistake must have sent him plunging down 
through a hundred and fifty feet to certain death. 

“Now bear a hand,” they heard him cry; and little 
by little he worked his way in towards them. They 
clung to what they gained, clung despite the mad anger 
of the raging wind, that seemed to have pitted its every 
force against their puny strength; they clung to the 
soaked canvas though the blood started from beneath 
their tortured finger-nails, though their hearts throbbed 
chokingly in their throats. A fine frenzy possessed 
them — let come what might the sail must be conquered. 
It was arduous work whilst it lasted; they had no idea 
of the passage of time, it had simply become a personal 
matter between them and the gale, and they conquered 
in the end. Inch by inch, cloth by cloth, the sail was 
reduced to quietude ; the gaskets were passed and hauled 
taut; they worked slowly in towards the bunt, fighting 
for every inch of the way ; and when the last gasket had 
been passed, when the beaten sail was tight bound to 
the yard, they gasped unbelievingly — hardly able to 
understand that they were still alive. 

They were drenched with sweat, despite the driving 
cold; they were sore and smarting in every limb, all 
feeling seemed to have passed from their fingers; but 
they had triumphed, and only pure, clean joy filled 
their souls. 


Running the Easting Down 141 

“You’ve done none so badly,” said Raymond, a 
lad who was grudging of praise, one who had high 
ideals of conduct aloft. And the two youngsters knew 
that this approval was of greater worth than the smiles 
of kings. 

But there was small time for self-congratulation. 
They had been working almost an hour on the royal, 
and in the interval the wind had increased to such an 
extent that the main-royal and upper topgallant sail had 
been furled by the men; and still the Cape Horn flew, 
like the spirit of the storm, through the whirling night. 
As the three lads reached the cross-trees the word was 
passed to take in the mizen-topsail, which was doing 
but little good and only causing the ship to steer 
wildly. 

“We might as well stop here,” said Raymond, 
swaying on the outrigger of the cross-trees. “It will 
save us another trip.” And so they waited whilst the 
yard rattled down and the gear was snugged. As it 
was very near eight bells Captain Branksome ordered 
the forecastle hands to assist the cadets in stowing this 
big sail, and so a procession of some fifteen hands 
swarmed up the rigging, men and boys striving to 
emulate one another in the climb. 

Raymond, Syd and Roy worked out to windward 
and commenced to grapple with the weighty sail ; once 
again they fought a gallant fight, losing an inch here, 
gaining a foot there, their arms wellnigh pulled from 
their sockets as the yelling wind fought with them. 
But the sail was reduced to order, and the command 
“Down from aloft ” was given. 

Syd’s oilskin jammed suddenly in the block of a 
spilling line; he tugged, but it would not come adrift. 
He tugged again; no use, the thing was firmly held. 


142 


Sons of the Sea 

A month or so before he would have torn the coat 
clear, reckless of consequences; but wisdom had come 
to him — perhaps the clean breath of the sea had 
taught him. He knew that for a space of perhaps a 
month he would be compelled practically to live in oil- 
skins, there would be no chance of repairing them ; it 
was necessary to prevent their tearing if such a thing 
were possible. 

Raymond was outside him on the yard. “What’s 
the matter, there?” he asked. 

“Oilskin jammed; go down, I’ll not be long,” said 
Syd, and began to fumble with the block. Raymond 
swung over him where he crouched, and, reaching the 
rigging; he dropped into the top. 

“That you, Syd? ” asked Roy Halliday. “Thought 
you were never coming.” Raymond informed the lad 
of what was wrong. 

“He’ll be down in a minute,” he said. “Nip below, 
my son ; it’s gone eight bells.” Roy disappeared over 
the top and Raymond followed him. Neither had seen 
a dark shape swing into the top from the lee side; but 
Forbes was there and he had heard. He knew that Syd, 
the lad he had promised to destroy, was still aloft; 
the night was dark and menacing, another chance had 
come. He groped at his belt — there should be no mis- 
take this time — but his knife was not in its sheath. 
Either he had left it below in the forecastle, or it had 
fallen from his belt whilst he was working aloft. What 
of it? There were other means of getting rid of this 
boy; a blow from the fist as he stood on the rim of 
the top ; a blow from the fist 

“No,” he muttered, “that’s too risky; I must make 
sure this time.” And as he threw out a hand to steady 
himself to the ship’s violent motion, his fingers grasped 


Running the Easting Down I 43 

a loose block that hung to an eyebolt on the mast. Ah ! 
that was the very thing. A downward blow with that 
weighty object and Syd’s head must be crushed in like 
an eggshell, and it would appear as though the whole 
matter were accidental. 

Forbes lifted the block clear and crowded in towards 
the mast, waiting. It was then that Sammy Longstaffe 
came clambering down from the topgallant yard. He 
had been sent aloft with a spare gasket — one of the 
cadets had complained that there were not sufficient on 
the sail — and Sammy, being nearest at hand, had been 
sent up with the extra lashing. He halted for a moment 
on the rim of the top, prior to descending the futtocks, 
and as he swayed there a sudden lightning flash illumin- 
ated the gloom. He saw the sailor Forbes crouched in 
there by the mast, he saw the bared teeth of the scoun- 
drel, the suggestion of expectation in his manner. He 
saw also the block he held in his hand. And instinc- 
tively he thought of the cut gasket he had discovered 
and of the falling marline-spike. What was Forbes 
doing here? 

It was in his heart to question him, to accuse him 
of some devilry, but Sammy was possessed of a shrewd 
commonsense, and he knew that to invite the sailor to 
an explanation was to ask for trouble. He was a boy, 
Forbes was a strong man ; if it came to a struggle there 
could only be one end to the matter. So Sammy did 
what his reason bade him do. That is, he descended 
the futtocks, but instead of continuing to the deck he 
swung across the mast and climbed stealthily up the 
other side of the top. Here he crouched quietly, using 
his eyes and his ears. The thickness of the mast was 
between him and Forbes, he was quite unseen. The 
sailor imagined that he had gone down for good; and 


!44 Sons of the Sea 

there was Syd, coming slowly in along the topsail 
yard ! 

The lightning was flashing now intermittently, show- 
ing the stripped spars aloft, showing, too, the swirling 
awfulness of the sea beneath. But Sammy Longstaffe 
had eyes for none of these things. He had seen a single 
figure working its way in towards the mast, and he 
had recognised that figure. At least, he knew it was 
either Syd or Roy, for both boys wore oilskins that he 
had assisted to buy; they were distinctive and easily 
recognisable. 

Syd had freed himself, and was now possessed by a 
keen desire to reach the deck. It was past eight bells 
and his watch below ; he had no wish to waste valuable 
minutes aloft when those same minutes might well 
be spent in his hammock. He thought of nothing 
save the victory just accomplished; he even sang a 
stave of a rousing sea song as he dropped to the top. 
Forbes gathered himself together ; should he strike now 
or should he wait until the lad’s feet were on the 
futtocks? Better to wait; when the blow struck home 
Syd’s fingers would relax their grip, he would fall 
downwards of a certainty, nothing could save him. 

The time was drawing very near. Unconscious of 
his proximity Syd took a firm hold of the topmast rig- 
ging, lowered his body over the edge of the platform, 
and groped with his feet for the futtocks. He found 
the first ratline and descended; his head and shoulders 
only were now in sight. Forbes leaped forward, he 
struck a blow, but as the ship jerked he missed. He 
swung back the block again, and as he did so Sammy 
Longstaffe leaped on him from behind. 

“You murderer!” gasped the lad. “You mur- 
derer ! ” Forbes let out a yell of surprise and fear that 


Running the Easting Down *45 

the wind cast lightly away. Syd had noticed nothing; 
when the block struck the top close to his head he 
thought it was merely some loose gear aloft; he did 
not even know that he had had a narrow escape. 

He went on his untroubled way to the deck, but 
Sammy Longstaffe was not in such pleasant case. For 
as the momentary fear fled Forbes realised that he was 
in grave danger. This lad had seen the blow delivered, 
he must know what it signified. If suspicion were 
aroused his plan to dispose of Syd must inevitably fail. 
Therefore Sammy must be got rid of and that as speedily 
as possibly. 

Forbes staggered a little and suddenly stiffened. He 
swung round and caught the lad by the throat, choking 
back the yell that was rising to his lips. Then he 
brought the block down on Sammy’s head. The lad 
collapsed in his grasp and lay like one dead. Forbes 
shivered and looked about him ; he thought he had 
heard a mocking laugh. He shivered again and hurled 
the block away ; curse it ! he could have sworn someone 
had laughed. 

No, he was altogether alone in the top, save for that 
still figure lying crumpled there. He must heave the 
body overboard, he must get rid of it. 

But a fresh fear grew to birth in his brain. Young 
Brunton might have seen him there, and it might be 
known that Longstaffe was also aloft. If the lad 
disappeared what would people think ? Conscience was 
making an utter coward of him; he saw possibilities 
that did not exist. Something struck him a sharp blow 
in the face ; it might have been the dripping hand of a 
dead man — in reality it was a loose rope-end — but by 
now his fears were aroused to such a pitch that he was 
hardly responsible for his actions. 

K 


146 


Sons of the Sea 

He scrambled out of the top and reached the deck; 
escaping observation, he shambled forward to the fore- 
castle and turned in. Sammy Longstaffe lay like the 
dead in the top, and the boisterous wind played lightly 
with his bloodstained hair. 

There he remained for several hours, until, indeed, 
the mizen topgallant sail began to blow loose from its 
gaskets — it had been hastily furled. The port watch 
of the cadets were sent aloft to refurl the sail, and Bully 
Briggs, descending into the top, placed his foot on 
Sam’s inanimate form. He made an inspection and 
found that someone was lying insensible there in the 
top, he hailed the deck with his information, men came 
aloft, a whip was rove and Sammy was lowered into 
safety. He neither spoke nor moved; his head was 
covered with blood, his eyes were wide open and glassy 
in their fixed stare. 

“No, he’s not dead,” grunted the chief officer, after 
a hasty examination in the chart-house. “He’s been 
hit by something that’s fallen from aloft. God knows 
what the end will be.” 


CHAPTER XI 

Ill-Luck 

From that night it was as though the Cape Horn’s luck 
changed. Up to now she had made a fairly good 
passage; she had not wasted weeks on end in the dol- 
drums, as ships often do, neither had she encountered 
many head winds to retard her passage; but as if 
Forbes’ dastardly attempt had called down on the fabric 
the wrath of the gods of the sea, matters changed for 
the worse. 

The gale that had been fair shifted to the north by 
morning and showed every sign of shifting still farther 
and coming almost right ahead; the sea began to run 
mountains high. It was necessary to reduce sail con- 
siderably, and so the upper topsails were made fast, and 
the foresail was close reefed ; the main had been taken in 
as soon as the wind shifted. Stripped and gaunt now, 
bathed unceasingly in brine, the ship surged down 
towards the frozen south. 

There was no comfort to be found aboard her, look 
where you might. The half-deck was drowned out by 
a monstrous wave that broke the teak wood door adrift 
and flooded the apartment to the depth of two feet. 
The galley was clean swept by a terrific comber that 
sent the cook and his mate charging to leeward amongst 
a medley of clattering pots and pans and a whirl of 
hissing embers. The day’s baking of bread was on top 

147 


148 Sons of the Sea 

of the locker, and that shared the common fate; the 
peasoup was spilt; chaos reigned supreme. 

That day there was no dinner worthy the name; all 
hands had to content themselves with cold tinned bully 
beef and hard biscuits. And the gale was increasing 
rapidly to alarming proportions. The ship’s head was 
directed to a point midway between south and east; 
her progress through the water was small, no longer 
did the log roar out boisterously as though rejoicing in 
the tale of knots it would tell. 

It rained incessantly; the full misery of the Easting 
at its worst was settling down on the Cape Horn. 

It was impossible to perform any work about the 
decks. The order was “Stand by aft,” and for watch 
after watch the crew remained huddled in their soaking 
oilskins under the break of the poop. They could do 
nothing but stare at the stripped spars and the narrow 
bands of canvas that showed spectrally against the 
wrathful sky. Undoubtedly the Cape Horn was a dirty 
ship. She wallowed in the seas like a hog in a trough; 
she took them aboard in masses, so that to move along 
her decks was to invite calamity. On the edge of dark 
the word passed to furl the foresail ; and as the force 
of the wind was now that of a full hurricane, all hands 
were summoned to assist. They made preparations 
carefully, for a moment’s inattention might easily spell 
the loss of the great sail. The second officer stationed 
himself at the sheet, the chief officer stood on the fore- 
castle head, with water pouring over him madly, and 
began to cast the chain tack loose from the capstan. 

The men assembled about the clew-garnets and bunt- 
lines, shivering and drenched ; they had left a saturated 
forecastle to come out on the still wetter decks. 

“Slack away,” bellowed Mr. Barker, and Seymour 


149 


Ill-Luck 

obeyed. The chief officer drew in a deep breath, 
fumbled with the chain — there was a roar like the dis- 
charge of an entire battery of big guns, and the tack 
parted. The clew of the sail leaped upwards, thrashing 
the air like a savage flail ; the men to windward hauled 
away on the clew-garnet; they tugged and strained, 
they sweated and shouted, but they could not reduce the 
flapping mass to quietude. 

“Tail on to the lee gear!” The cadets flocked to 
leeward and got their weight on to the lee clew-garnet 
and buntlines as the second mate began to slack 
away; inch by inch they dragged the cumbersome mass 
to the yard. It was Herculean work; the lads gasped 
and choked, their hearts throbbed achingly, but there 
was no reprieve. 

Suddenly the Cape Horn shivered throughout her 
length and plunged her bow downwards and to wind- 
ward. There was a sick moment of terrible suspense, 
and then — it was as though half the Indian Ocean had 
come aboard. Those who looked up saw a vast wall 
of foam-tipped water impend over their heads, but 
before they could cower away before its rush it had 
fallen. Torn from their holding like straws, dashed to 
the deck, lifted again and slung ferociously away, the 
men and boys were scattered as a girls’ school might 
be scattered by a charging bull. 

Syd and Roy rolled into the scuppers, heavy bodies 
were hurled upon them, they clung to booted legs and 
slippery ropes that eluded their grasp; they fought 
desperately for a footing, but they were stricken down 
again, and made the sport of the wave. Syd was half- 
stunned and sick; someone had kicked him in the ribs; 
he hardly cared what happened now, his senses were 
reeling. There was a roaring horror of water beneath 


i5o Sons of the Sea 

him and above; he awoke to the full reality of his posi- 
tion, and found that he had been driven half-through an 
open wash-port; if he had struggled another instant 
he must have been overboard. He contrived to free 
himself and crawl back to safety, but another wave 
knocked him down and played sportively with him. 
Still, his post was at the fore clew-garnet, and somehow 
or other he must get back there. 

He clutched a stanchion and hauled himself pain- 
fully to his feet. He could hardly believe the evidence 
of his senses now — the scene had changed so remark- 
ably. Everything movable had been swept away, either 
to ruin in the scuppers or clean overboard. The life- 
boat on the skids alongside the forward house vfas 
hanging in its tackles in shattered ruins; the dinghy 
had disappeared altogether; a raffle of tangled ropes lay 
beneath the spare spars, and mixed up with the cordage 
was the figure of a man. Syd laid hold of this figure 
and contrived to drag it clear, saw it was the chief 
officer, and then was joined by Roy. 

“That was a big one,” chattered Roy, who was bleed- 
ing profusely from a cut on the forehead. “Is he 
dead ? ” 

“D-d-don’t know. Look at his leg — it’s broken. 
We’d better get him aft.” But alone and unaided they 
could not do it. They looked by common consent at 
the foreyard — the foresail had blown to ribbons, and 
these ribbons were swiftly threshing themselves away 
into nothingness. 

“Up with you, my hearties — where are the rest?” 
It was the second officer, dripping and cold, but in- 
domitable still. He had lost his sou ’-wester, his oil- 
skins were sadly torn, but his voice was full of a cheer- 
fulness which perhaps he did not feel. 


Ill-Luck 151 

“D-don’t know, sir — Mr. Barker’s hurt,” said Syd. 

“ Pass him into the forecastle here for a while ; look 
alive.” They did as they were bidden and again floun- 
dered forth on deck. The crew were picking them- 
selves up one by one, very gingerly, feeling their limbs 
as though surprised to find they still remained in place. 
But there were gaps in their ranks; alas! the sea had 
taken a bitter toll. Two men were gone altogether, not 
a vestige of them remained; another man was lying 
under the fore-winch with his chest crushed, insensible. 
If he had been left another moment in the swirling waters 
he must inevitably have drowned. 

One of the cadets was seriously hurt also; he had 
been driven head first with the force of a battering-ram 
against the steel bulwarks, and he was unconscious, 
breathing stertorously. Mr. Seymour called the name 
of man after man ; as they stumbled towards him and 
answered he bade them stand aside. 

14 Raymond ! ” 

‘‘Here, sir.” Raymond was already at work. 
“Briggs!” There was no answer. “Briggs!” This 
time it was a yell ; but still no reply came. 

“Search about; he might be lying somewhere,” said 
the second officer; but the search was in vain. No 
Briggs was to be found. 

“Get this mess cleared up — no use troubling with 
that sail now.” The last fragments of the ruined course 
blew away to leeward like great seabirds as Mr. Sey- 
mour spoke. “Bring these hurt men aft — look alive.” 
They picked up the injured and bore them aft; they 
were heavy-hearted and miserable, for death must needs 
leave all men changed. The sufferers were handled with 
all the care and tenderness possible, though that was not 
much; for the ship was now rioting so madly that 


i5 2 Sons of the Sea 

progress along the decks was more than dangerous. 
But somehow they bore the injured to safety — away aft 
was the hospital, a secure place of refuge, down aft 
beneath the cabins, well lighted in calm weather, though 
now the ports were smothered by the leaping waters. 

Here they were left in such comfort as could be made 
for them, awaiting the time when the captain might be 
at liberty to attend to their needs. And here amongst 
the injured, still unconscious, but still alive, lay Sammy 
Longstaffe, the boy who, could he have spoken, might 
have told a story that would lift the hair of all who 
heard. 

And the uninjured went back to work, to clear the 
wreckage away, slaving to their necks in water for the 
most part — dashed hither and thither at the elements* 
sweet will — because they were sailors and it was their 
duty to act, not cower away in shameful fear. 

“Brunton, nip along to the boatswain’s locker and 
get me a marline-spike,” shouted Mr. Seymour, work- 
ing hard at an obstinate shackle. Syd dashed away, 
only too glad to be doing something, was swept into 
the scuppers, picked himself up, gasping and dizzy, but 
really none the worse, and by dint of a dive and a 
scramble, contrived to reach the open space beneath the 
forecastle head. The calm here was almost disconcert- 
ing; the force of the wind was lost, and though the 
crashing water on the deck above was at times thunder- 
ous the atmosphere of the place was that of rest and 
ease. Syd opened the door of the boatswain’s locker 
and stumbled in. He knew exactly where the marline 
spikes were kept ; but as he groped for them he tripped 
over some soft body lying on the deck, and fell on his 
hands and knees. He reached out and his fingers came 
in contact with a soft human face ! 


153 


Ill-Luck 

A thrill shot through him ; his first thought was that 
this was a dead man, thrust in here in the recent con- 
fusion and forgotten. But the face squirmed away be- 
neath his hand, he heard a low groan. 

“Who’s there?” he asked sharply. There was 
another groan from beneath him; Syd wished with all 
his heart he had a match. But the box he carried for 
the purpose of relighting the binnacle lamps was 
drenched and broken, the matches within were useless. 

“Who’s there?” he asked again. 

“Is that you, Brunton ? What’s happened — is the 
ship sinking ? ” The questions came through chatter- 
ing teeth; and Syd guessed the voice was Briggs’. It 
was indeed Briggs, the bombastic bully; the man who, 
in fine weather, spoke boastfully of his own magnificent 
heroism. 

“Are you hurt?” asked Syd. “Did you crawl in 
here to die ? ” 

“I’m sick — I’m sick,” moaned Briggs. Syd got to 
his feet. Cured of all thought of sea-sickness himself 
he was able to sympathise to a certain degree. 

“Now, then, Brunton, are you going to be a week 
with that spike ? ” asked the voice of the second officer 
at the door. “ Where are they ? ” He struck a match, 
and its feeble light illuminated the interior of the 
storeroom. It showed the white and pimply face of 
Briggs, too, the wide-open eyes and the gaping 
mouth. 

Then the match flickered out, but Syd heard Mr. 
Seymour’s curt laugh of contempt. 

“So this is where you are, Briggs? We’ve been 
searching the ship for you.” 

“I’m ill, sir, I’m ill,” whimpered the abject bully. 

“I know your complaint, we call it Cape Horn fever, 


154 


Sons of the Sea 

Briggs. You’re skrim-shanking there, whilst first- 
voyagers are working their best. Out you come ! ” 

Out Briggs had to come ; despite his whines he was 
driven ungently along the deck and forced to work 
with the rest. The big cadet had deliberately stowed 
himself away in the hidie-hole when the press of work 
commenced; his craven soul had shrunk within him, 
and it had seemed an easy matter to dodge the danger. 
But he had been discovered in flagrante delicto, and he 
began to wish that he had never obeyed that foolish 
impulse. Still, the worst was not so bad as might have 
been. Only Syd Brunton had seen him, Syd and the 
second officer. Mr. Seymour was hardly likely to 
peach ; and as for Syd — Briggs came across the young- 
ster under the lee of the fore-house, where Syd laboured 
to disentangle a strange and unseemly medley of ropes. 

“That you, Brunton?” 

“Yes, it’s me, Briggs; what do you want? ” 

“Nothing; but if I catch you saying a word about 
that locker I’ll skin you alive, that’s all. Understand, 
I’ll break every bone in your body if the story gets 
about.” 

But Syd had been keyed up to a fine pitch by the 
recent adventures. It came to him now that a man who 
was afraid of a storm might be afraid of a boy, and so 
he said : 

“I’ll jolly well please myself what I say about it; 
and if you start in to threaten, I’ll threaten too.” 

Briggs blustered for a moment, and then : 

“I’ll give you that model Snowball made for me 
if you won’t tell,” he said sheepishly. 

Syd laughed. 

“I’m not going to tell,” he said. “But mind, 
Briggs, no more bullying.” 


155 


Ill-Luck 

What Briggs thought must remain for ever un- 
known, he merely grunted and moved away. But after 
the gale it was noticed that he treated Syd with a curious 
respect when they met, he no longer attempted to haze 
him and submit him to countless indignities. And 
Syd, being a very human boy, no hero out of a moral 
book, availed himself to the utmost of this change in 
affairs, and flourished exceedingly in the light of the 
bully’s favour. 

More than that, he used his power for good. For 
on the day following the accident, when Roy Halliday 
and Bully Briggs had come to a wordy argument that 
promised to result in fresh ill-treatment on the part 
of the big cadet, Syd saw his chance and used it. 

“If you want to lam into Roy, Briggs,” he said 
mildly, “why don’t you take him to the boatswain’s 
locker ? ” 

There was just enough of a threat in his voice to 
make the bully hold his hand and drop his jaw. And 
Roy made his escape in perfect safety. 

But this is cooking our goose before we have 
killed it. 

During the remainder of that night the Cape Horn 
made fearfully heavy weather of it. At two o’clock 
in the morning, it then being as black as the grave, 
the fore topsail carried away, and for three hours all 
hands laboured like fiends to secure the remnants of 
the sail. Syd and Roy were aloft amongst the rest; 
they were wellnigh worn out with much striving, but 
they responded to the call like terriers, and were cer- 
tainly not last to reach the airy pinnacle of danger. 
The squall that carried the sail away was the precursor 
of still more wind, and when they reached the deck 
they found it practically impossible to stand up against 


156 Sons of the Sea 

the force of the cyclone. The wind was indeed a solid 
thing; it smote down out of the darkness like a vast, 
overwhelming wall, and men were forced to crawl on 
hands and knees at such times as they wished to 
work up to windward. Without cessation the seas 
roamed aboard over the rails, although the Cape Horn 
was now hove-to, and should, logically speaking, have 
been as dry as a bone on deck. It was her consider- 
able sheer that made her so disgusting; but when Mr. 
Seymour invited the lads of his w T atch down to his 
room at six bells to partake of hot cocoa, brewed on 
a stove that he had cunningly chocked off in his bunk 
amongst the blankets, he confided to them that this 
was about the worst blow he had ever seen. 

“Is there danger, sir?” asked Roy, drinking 
greedily out of a meat-tin. He, in common with his 
messmates, had not tasted hot food for twenty-four 
hours or so. 

“Oh, I suppose there’s a certain amount, but we’ve 
got a good ship, even if she is dirty, and we’ve got 
a clinking good skipper. And besides, we’ve got a 
British crew, Halliday, which stands for a lot. There’s 
not much chance of your losing the number of your 
mess this journey.” 

By the time day broke the gale was at its height. 
The sight the lads’ eyes rested on was so gigantic in 
its terror that the wonder is their hearts continued to 
beat. The sea was levelled almost flat by the rush 
of wind, but as it was hounded on towards the ship 
it snarled at the resistance offered by the hull, it 
sprung high in the air, and fell thunderously. The 
surface of that wild stretch of ocean was veined by 
wisps of dashing whiteness, and the spindrift, licked 
from the water, was hurled about in never-ceasing 


157 


Ill-Luck 

showers, so that something approaching a fog was 
bred up. The sky was dark with portent, black clouds 
drooped sinisterly to windward, the horizon had closed 
in on every hand, as though a monstrous, gripping 
hand were slowly clutching that portion of the sea 
which held the Cape Horn with the intention of crush- 
ing her to flinders. 

There was a livid steely light in one quarter of 
the compass, but that unnatural glare was infinitely 
more terrifying than the clouds themselves. It might 
have been the very mouth of the lurking-place of the 
winds, spewing forth its mighty blasts upon the help- 
less shipping. 

But apart from the extraneous signs, the Cape Horn 
herself showed that a gale of no common magnitude 
was in progress. The lads had never seen her so 
gaunt and naked as now since she left port. There 
was only the narrow band of the main lower topsail 
set, that and a fragment of a staysail aft. The sails 
had been crudely stowed, very different now from their 
smart, neat rolls of past days; at least, the main and 
fore royals were snugged closely to the yards, and the 
topgallant sails were not too unsightly; but the upper 
topsails, the remnants of the foresail, and the fore 
lower topsail were simply piled up in any fashion, as 
men had best been able to handle them. 

Ropes hung in bights aloft ; the yards were trimmed 
anyhow; there were Irish pennants wherever the eye 
looked. And owing to the ship’s terrific rolling the 
topsail yards swung and jerked violently at their 
lifts and braces; the rigging to leeward slacked and 
tightened ; the ropes that stretched across between the 
masts like a gigantic cat’s cradle hummed and throbbed 
to the clamour of the shrieking wind. 


158 Sons of the Sea 

On deck but little could be seen save swirling water. 
At times the ship buried herself completely, so that 
the tops of the houses on deck showed like rafts 
amongst swirling foam, and the curious spectacle of 
the galley funnel pouring forth smoke from what might 
have been the middle of the sea was enough to make 
the beholder laugh, if he had nothing better to think 
of. It was not yet possible to ascertain the full effects 
of the night’s happenings — there was far too much 
water on deck. But Syd and Roy noticed that the 
second lifeboat was lying over on its bilge awkwardly, 
and that many extra lashings had been passed round 
it to prevent it from being carried overboard com- 
pletely. 

There was no attempt made now to clear the wreck, 
but presently, as daylight showed the main topsail to 
be chafing through its robands, and as if that sail 
went the ship might easily become helpless, men were 
dispatched aloft with coils of stout hempen line, which 
they rove through the eyelet holes on the head of the 
sail, and passed clean round the yard, making all 
things secure. 

Captain Branksome had been on deck all night, as 
all hands had been on deck; his face was grey with 
salt, his eyes were bloodshot, but he faced the storm 
bravely, without a suggestion of weakness in his up- 
right bearing. Mr. Seymour, promoted for the moment 
to chief officer, stood beside his chief, one hand on 
the hood of the binnacle, swaying lightly to the 
tempestuous motion of the hull, and the two men 
discussed matters in loud yells, as anything less could 
not have been heard. 

There was nothing to be done save let the ship go 
her own gait, and as soon as this decision was come 


Ill-Luck 159 

to the captain slipped below. He had other work to 
do there : the injured demanded his attention before 
he could think of rest or food. 

“Go down below, Raymond, and give the old man 
a hand; you go, too, Brunton,” ordered Mr. Seymour. 

The cadets obeyed, and, doffing their oilskins in 
the companion-way, descended another stair that com- 
municated with the floor beneath, and found themselves 
at once in the hospital : a bare, white-painted apart- 
ment, containing several bunks that differed but little 
from the other bunks in half-deck and forecastle. The 
floor was scrubbed snow-white, and the place was 
perfectly dry, but that was all that could be said 
for it. 

Captain Branksome was already making ready for 
work. Stripped to the shirt, he had opened the big 
medicine chest, and was drawing forth an assortment 
of splints and bandages, when, lifting his eyes, he 
saw the two lads. 

“What are you doing here? Hurt yourselves?” 

“No, sir; Mr. Seymour sent us to give a hand,” 
said Raymond. 

“Very good; stand by; there’ll be work enough 
for you. Pass the word for the steward.” 

Syd darted up the ladder and summoned the cabin 
servant, and so, having marshalled his forces, Captain 
Branksome set to work. The mate was the first man 
to be treated; his leg was broken above the knee, and 
it required a vast amount of work before it was pro- 
perly set. But the captain seemed to understand this 
branch of his work remarkably well ; he was as ex- 
perienced a surgeon as he was a seaman. When the 
broken limb had been drawn into place by means of 
a small tackle, when the joined portions had been 


160 Sons of the Sea 

tightly splinted, the steward and Raymond lifted the 
officer back to his berth and brought out the next case 
— the man with the crushed chest. Captain B rank- 
some looked graver than ever at this casualty; the 
man was conscious and undoubtedly suffering terrible 
pain ; he shrieked when he was touched. 

“ Ever given chloroform, Raymond ? ” 

Raymond shook his head, but a moment later ex- 
pressed his willingness to try his hand. So the bottle 
of anaesthetic was handed to him ; he placed a cloth 
over the man’s face, and in a little while he was un- 
conscious. The captain and steward bound his chest 
firmly; Syd flying hither and thither in obedience to 
hasty commands; and another patient was brought 
forward. 

It was well on into the forenoon by the time the 
last was attended to, and as this man was laid back 
into his bunk Syd heard the captain vent his weari- 
ness for the first time. 

“Eh, but I’m tired,” he said, stretching his arms 
to their widest. Then he caught sight of Syd’s white, 
grimy face, and forced a smile. 

“Well, youngster; what do you think of the sea 
now? Fine life, isn’t it?” 

“I wish I’d been at it longer, sir, so that I could 
have helped better,” said Syd, and blushed at his own 
temerity. 

“You’ve done pretty well as it is. Go to your 
quarters now and get something to eat; better still, 
you and Raymond must take a meal in the cabin. 
Ah, that reminds me — there’s that youngster who was 
struck down last night.” 

Syd followed him towards that bunk which held 
Sammy Longstaffe, and the lad’s heart beat thickly 


Ill-Luck 161 

as he gazed down on the half-opened, set eyes, the 
puffed lips, and the unnaturally coloured face. 

“A good boy, that; but it’s generally the good 
ones who come to grief,” said the captain. “I’m 
afraid he’s done for — it will be a miracle if he recovers. 
Perhaps it would be better for him to die — better that 
than to live on as an idiot.” 

Syd sniffed; the strain under which he had 
laboured had been trying in the extreme. 

“Yes, it’s a pity, my lad; but it’s what we’ve got to 
expect. A bit of work, a bit of excitement, and then — 
six feet of an old royal, and some holystones ; that’s the 
sailor’s life in a nutshell.” 

But there was no time for moralising; all that could 
be done had been done, and now the healthy members 
of the crew must be attended to. Syd and Raymond 
followed the captain into the cabin, and, drenched as 
they were, sat down at the table and consumed a scratch 
meal which the steward set in haste. Fortunately, the 
tea was hot and strong, and it caused the blood to flow 
afresh in their chilled veins; and the meal, though 
rough, was plentiful, so that the two lads, with all the 
natural resilience of youth, found themselves able to 
make light of the past night. But when they went on 
deck Mr. Seymour bade them turn in and secure a 
decent rest whilst there was an opportunity. 

“There’s nothing to be done now,” he said. “But 
there’ll be a lot to do in a little while. Away you go 
and have a caulk.” 

They slipped away, and at the cost of another 
drenching, reached the half-deck, which was a pitiable 
sight. Everything seemed wet through and filthy; the 
skylights were battened down, and only a suggestion of 
light came through the ports ; the stench of wet oilskins 

L 


162 


Sons of the Sea 

and sea-boots was in the air. Little did the cadets care 
for these discomforts, however. They slipped off their 
wet clothing, found a suit of dry pyjamas apiece — not 
from their own chests, because everything within was 
wet — and turned in with groans of relief. Inside twenty 
seconds, notwithstanding the uproar that was every- 
where about them, notwithstanding the awful motion 
of the ship, they were fast asleep. 


CHAPTER XII 

An Alarm 

The gale continued, with varying violence, for the 
better part of a week, and after calming down for four- 
and-twenty hours, started to blow afresh. They had set 
sail when the wind abated, they had sent down the 
ruined canvas and had bent new; but now, with the 
recurrence of the blow, all the work had to be done 
over again. 

For something like three weeks it was one succession 
of storms, and such storms, too, as the youngsters of 
the Cape Horn’s crew had never even imagined. They 
grew accustomed to the pounding of water, to the chill 
slaps of the wind-hurled sprays whenever they showed 
their faces on deck. They came to know what it was to 
go for days on end without a hot meal, without even a 
drop of hot coffee to cheer them, because the galley 
was drowned out time after time, and they ceased to 
complain when they were called to an all-hands* job, 
and compelled to turn out from wet blankets, warm 
with the steam from their bodies, into wet clothes. The 
weeks seemed an endless nightmare of struggling and 
striving; they laid their wearied heads on their 
saturated pillows, and almost as their eyes closed it 
seemed time to turn out and face the rigours of the 
elements afresh. 

Their hands were sore, the constant wettings they 
l6 J 


i6 4 Sons of the Sea 

suffered caused strange salt-water boils to form on their 
skins; their oilskins were torn and leaking in countless 
places; Syd’s sea-boots were pierced through and 
through by sharp ends of wire aloft, they leaked like 
sieves, but that could not be helped, and the lads set 
their teeth and tried to assure themselves that they were 
enjoying it. 

So they were, in a way. They were beginning to 
understand that they were doing something for Eng- 
land, helping the flag on its onward rush across the 
world, and that thought was enough to quicken the 
sluggish blood in their hearts. 

But they prayed fervently for fine weather and a 
chance to rid themselves of the constant clamour. 
They hungered for the feel of dry clothing, for the 
sight of a clear deck, for a decently served meal. 
Sammy Longstaffe was still down in hospital, as were 
the other sufferers of the first big gale; the ordinary 
seaman had never recovered complete consciousness; 
Captain Branksome would have it that a piece of bone 
was pressing on his brain. And the lads in the half- 
deck were dependent on the ministrations of Harry 
Longton now, who, however willing he might be, was 
not nearly so adept at his work as Sam had been. So 
they lived precariously, from hand to mouth, thankful 
to see food set before them, and above asking questions 
as to its journeying to their table. 

Bully Briggs had lain down under the privations; 
he complained of internal pains, and refused to go on 
deck, and the rest of the boys, shrewdly surmising that 
he was malingering, treated him with but scant 
respect. Raymond was the life and soul of the half- 
deck; he was never out of humour, never the man to 
shirk a difficult task. When the wind blew at its 


An Alarm 165 

highest he sang his loudest ; he was first aloft, last 
down, and by his leadership inculcated in the souls of 
Syd Brunton and Roy Halliday a spirit of emulation 
which served them well. During this spell of bad 
weather our heroes got the name of being smart sea- 
men, and they deserved it. 

But all things have an end, and at long last, when 
the patience of the most patient was wearing threadbare, 
when men snapped sharply at a question and aimed 
hasty blows at well-tried comrades, the Cape Horn 
shook herself clear of the downbearing torture she had 
endured, and emerged for a space into sunny skies and 
a long, evenly heaving sea. The wind freed and 
slackened, it was possible now to walk the deck without 
a certainty of an instant wetting; the decks dried, the 
sails were loosened and set, and at last the ship started 
forward at a splendid gait, as though anxious to leave 
these ill-omened waters behind her for ever. 

But sadness descended on the ship on the first day 
of fair weather. The seaman whose chest had been 
crushed so terribly, Hardy by name, died after almost 
incredible suffering. Perhaps, had he been ashore, in 
a hospital fitted with every scientific resource known to 
man, he might have recovered ; but even so it is doubt- 
ful. Captain Branksome had done his best, recognis- 
ing the hopelessness of the case from the beginning; 
but the injury had been done, and a species of gangrene 
had set in which could not be combated. 

It passed round the ship that Hardy was dead, and 
at once a cloud descended on all hands. The dead man 
had been well liked : a quiet, unostentatious sailor, who 
did his work well without complaining; who was always 
ready to share his last pipeful of tobacco with a ship- 
mate; who would give the shirt off his back to one in 


i66 


Sons of the Sea 

need; his absence left a gaping blank in the Cape 
Horn's complement. 

During the rest of that day men moved about 
silently, hardly speaking, save in whispers, and then 
only to discuss the dead man’s good points. One re- 
membered how he had been indebted to Hardy for 
valuable assistance in a row in a Spanish port; another 
was wearing a coat the dead man had given him. In 
no community is a death felt so keenly as aboard a 
sailing ship, where men are drawn very close to each 
other in the common bond of work. During the gale, 
when the two hands had been lost overboard, it was 
different; there had been other things to think of, men 
were aware that their own deaths might be but a matter 
of days or hours, but now it was different ; the ship had 
run into crisp, sparkling seas and sunny skies; their 
sufferings were over for the time, but poor Hardy had 
passed into even finer weather for ever. 

The sailmaker went below with a bundle of canvas 
and a skein of twine; he reappeared, after an absence 
of an hour, with empty hands, having done his work. 
The night came and passed, and men who trod the 
poop walked with softened footsteps, as though afraid 
of disturbing the sleeper below. But he would never 
awaken until the last trump summoned the dead from 
the sea that held them. 

At seven bells the hands were ordered to dress; the 
cadets donned uniform, as did the captain and officers, 
and at quarter to eight Roy Halliday was sent to toll 
the bell forward. Solemnly the great strokes rang out, 
echoing dismally along the decks, and to that accom- 
paniment men moved aft with a grating, and laid it at 
the gangway in readiness. Four of the dead sailor’s 
messmates descended to the hospital and returned, bear- 


An Alarm 167 

ing a long, white burden, which they deposited 
reverently on the grating; the second officer laid a red 
ensign over the shroud. Captain Branksome came 
from the cabin, bare-headed, holding a Prayer Book; 
the second officer followed him; the cadets lined up 
on the after end of the deck, the men forward. 

“ Back the main yard I ” ordered the captain ; and it 
was done. The ship’s motion was checked suddenly; 
she slapped a little wisp of spray over the shrouding 
flag, but the dead man had never been afraid of salt 
water. 

“I am the Resurrection and the Life.” Gravely, 
reverently, so that the service sounded doubly impres- 
sive, Captain Branksome read the solemn words “For 
use at Sea,” and Syd and Roy felt unaccustomed lumps 
rise in their throats. It was terrible, terrible; the sea 
was so vast and deep ; the grave would be marked by no 
more than a little stream of bubbles, and then — the 
long-backed combers would roll on resistlessly, unheed- 
ing the secret they hid. 

“We therefore commit his body to the deep.” Two 
sailors moved towards the head of the grating; they 
lifted it sharply; the second officer snatched back the 
flag, and the white shroud flashed overboard. Men 
trooped to the rail, but nothing was to be seen ; the sea 
had claimed its own. 

“Square the main yard; smart’s the word, men ! ” 
With the last words of the service a change came over 
the ship; men leaped to their duties briskly; it was as 
though, with the disappearance of the corpse, a heavy 
load had been removed. The yards were swung 
cheerily; men cleared away the grating and the other 
accessories; the funeral was over, and in a little while 
Hardy would be pothing more than a name, and, 


i68 


Sons of the Sea 

perhaps, a memory, though sailors* memories are 
proverbially short. 

Later that day the dead man’s effects were sold by 
public auction. He was down in the books as a single 
man, there was neither wife nor child to mourn him. 
But few of our deep-water men marry, knowing full 
well the risks they run. 

Syd bought Hardy’s sheath-knife; Roy bought his 
> ditty-bag ; the crew in general competed amongst them- 

selves for his belongings, and fancy prices were 
brought. But when another day came round Hardy was 
wellnigh forgotten. 

And now a period of comparative happiness set in 
aboard the Cape Horn . Full advantage of the growing 
fine weather was taken to overhaul all damaged gear, 
and all hands were busily employed, below and aloft. 
Even when off duty the cadets found much to do; their 
sea-chests must needs be overhauled, their clothes dried 
and attended to; and the appearance of the ship’s 
riggings during these days was sufficient to give rise 
to the impression that she was a second-hand clothes 
shop. Look where you would you saw nothing but 
drying garments, even the captain’s clothes were triced 
up the mizen-mast. 

For a matter of another three weeks or so but little 
of interest occurred. Regular work was indulged in ; 
the watches were changed; work was begun and com- 
pleted. The Cape Horn was reeling off the knots in 
magnificent style now, and every day the clock was 
flogged ahead a full thirty minutes to allow for the 
rapidly changing longitude. The invalids were re- 
ported to be doing well ; all, that is, except Sammy 
Longstaffe, who was still unconscious. He had re- 
covered something of his physical health, it is true, but 


An Alarm 169 

there was no intelligence in his eyes, and since he was 
but little better than a log, he was never allowed on 
deck. 

Not so the chief officer. Every day he was carried 
on to the poop for a little while, and established in a 
long deck chair, and the other invalids were lifted to 
the quarter-deck and there allowed to sun themselves in 
the fragrant air; the less seriously injured, indeed, 
began to crave for something to occupy their thoughts, 
and were supplied with rope yarns with which to make 
sennit. The mate interested himself in painting a large 
picture of the Cape Horn as she had appeared during 
the gale; he was a deft limner, and was very proud of 
his handiwork, and so, with peace taking the place of 
recent strife, the ship bounded forward as though eager 
to reach her goal and find rest from her striving. 

But her troubles were far from being at an end. She 
struck another gale off Keeling Island, as she headed 
up towards Sunda Strait, and for a space of forty-eight 
hours men had as much to do as they could desire ; but 
she was shortened down in time, and though discomfort 
reigned supreme, there was one advantage : the weather 
was warmer, and to get wet was not such a hardship as 
it had been. 

Then a crisp favouring breeze sprang up that per- 
mitted the royals to be set again, and she burst light- 
footed through the Strait into the mysterious waters of 
the South China Sea, where a strange scent as of the 
fragrant East seemed ever to hang over her, and where 
the sea was so blue as to be unbelievable by eyes that 
have never seen those waters. 

They left the albatrosses and the mollymawks behind 
— they had caught many of the great birds, finding it a 
means of relieving the tedium — and sped up towards 


xyo 


Sons of the Sea 

their goal. But after a week’s clear run they entered 
upon a period of baffling calms and head winds ; finally, 
a long calm set in, and for day after day the Cape Horn 
lay idly on the untroubled sea. 

During all these weeks Forbes had made no further 
attempt to fulfil his compact with Mr. Carey. Whether 
it was that fear held him in check cannot be said ; suffice 
it that Syd had been immune from attack — or, at least, 
had no consciousness of any such attack. 

The lad had learnt how to look after himself ; aloft 
he was as agile as a monkey, on deck he was nimble- 
footed and active, and it is not an easy matter to dispose 
of such a youngster without suspicion attaching to the 
disposer. At all events, Syd had not run any more 
than the ordinary risks of the sea, and he commented 
on the fact one second dog-watch below as he sat on his 
sea-chest and examined his belongings one by one. 

He and Roy were indulging in what is known as 
a sailor’s pleasure, that is, they were overhauling their 
kits, and in so doing Syd came across that cheap 
revolver, the purchase of which had given them such 
pleasure before ever he dreamt his visions of a life at 
sea would be realised. 

“Not much use for this thing now, Roy,” he said, 
sweeping the cylinder round beneath his fingers. “I 
used to think that going to sea meant all kinds of 
mutinies and things — wrecks on cannibal islands, and 
the rest. Wonderful what a lot a man learns at sea.” 

“There isn’t any of that sort of fun,” agreed Roy, 
a trifle disconsolately. “I was talking to old Lambert, 
who’s been at sea for fifty years, and he’s never even 
met a man who’s seen a pirate. They went out of 
fashion a century ago.” 

Raymond, who was busy at the table with an exercise 


An Alarm 17 1 

book and a “ Raper’s Tables ” — he intended to go up for 
second mate at the termination of this present voyage — 
looked up suddenly. 

“That’s all you know about it,” he said. “When we 
were out here last voyage everyone was talking about 
pirates — Annamese beasts. They say the shores of 
Indo-China are swarming with them, but they’re not 
the picturesque kind at all, they’re rotten cut-throats, 
who sneak on a ship that can’t defend herself, murder 
the crew and loot her of whatever she’s got worth while. 
Then they set fire to her and scuttle her, and that’s the 
end of it.” 

“I say, you chaps, there’s a funny-looking craft 
away on the beam,” said Hyatt, the youngest cadet, 
darting into the half-deck. “First Chinese junk I’ve 
ever seen.” 

Syd and Roy, to whom such a sight was new, at 
once went out on deck, to see in the near distance a 
huge junk, with matting sails, ugly and unclean. But 
even so there was a suggestion of the picturesque about 
her as she lay there on the placid water, apparently 
becalmed, in reality moving slowly through the sea, 
driven along, in fact, by the mere flapping of her 
cumbersome sails. From her there came a dismal 
stench, and occasionally a confused murmur of sound, 
as though she carried an enormous crew who were all 
talking at once. 

“That’s the remarkable part about these chaps,” said 
the third officer, joining the knot of boys that had 
gathered on the rails. “They seem able to sail when 
other ships are only drifting astern. I’ve been afloat 
without a single craft in sight, there’s come a bit of 
fog, and then, when it lifted, we were surrounded by 
junks like this — just drifted up from nowhere.” 


T.J2 


Sons of the Sea 

They watched the stranger for some little time, until 
the crawling darkness hid her from their view, and then 
they realised that although the Cape Horn was actually 
motionless, the junk had vastly increased her distance. 

“Hark! what’s that?” asked Syd, lifting his hand. 
The boys strained their ears into the gloom, and from 
it there came a faint chugging sound. 

“Sweeps! the beggars are rowing,” said the third 
officer. “That might account for the milk in the coco- 
nut. They carry monstrous crews, of course.” 

“There’s going to be a fog to-night,” said Ray- 
mond, who had joined the group on deck. “Ugh ! that 
means the fog-horn’s got to be blown. Rotten job, I 
call it.” 

The boys of the watch below went back to their half- 
deck, and Syd resumed his task of clearing out his 
chest. He found the old fascination coming back to 
him as he toyed with the revolver; the feel of the 
weapon’s butt sent a thrill through him. 

“We might get a bit of practice at shooting,” he 
confided to Roy. “ If we rigged up a target somewhere 
we could blaze away all these cartridges— do us no end 
of good.” 

“You’ll have the skipper on your track if you do,” 
put in Raymond. “Don’t you know that no one’s 
allowed to bring pistols aboard ship without the 
skipper’s permission? It’s down in the articles.” But 
Syd hardly took any notice of this warning ; he groped 
about amongst the spare socks and mitts and loose 
raffle in the bottom of Roy’s chest until he came across 
a box of cartridges unbroken — fifty in all. 

“We might pot a shark,” he gloated. “Anyhow, 
I’ll keep it ready, Roy, and we’ll take shot and shot 
about. Don’t suppose the skipper will say anything, 


An Alarm *73 

even if it is against regulations ; he’s a decent sort, old 
Branksome.” 

For a while now they talked, as boys will talk, of the 
coming days. To be sure, the sea had proved, in one 
sense, a disappointment; there had been no adventures 
such as they had hoped for, but in a little while more 
they would be ashore in a foreign land — their first 
glimpse of strange parts — and the possibilities of adven- 
ture there would be endless. There had been trouble in 
China; there might be trouble again; the fascination of 
the East was settling down upon them. When the bell 
struck eight times, to change the watches, Syd slipped 
the revolver into the tray of his chest and went on deck, 
dreaming strange, wild dreams. 


CHAPTER XIII 

Pirates 

The fog seemed to settle closer on the surface of the sea, 
it veiled the Cape Horn’s motionless sails; great drops 
of moisture splashed from aloft on to the deck. There 
was now not the faintest breath of wind, not even a 
rope stirred, and from overside there came not so much 
as the sound of a single splash. 

It was Sunday morning; the decks had been washed 
down, and the cadets of the starboard watch had donned 
their Sunday clothing. It was quite warm ; if once the 
fog lifted to allow the sun a chance, the probability was 
that it would become insufferably hot, and the dress 
orders for the day had been white drill pants and cap 
covers — as a sign that the Cape Horn was making 
summer for herself. From forward there came, every 
minute, a long-drawn wail from the mechanical fog- 
horn, blown by the man on the lookout. 

Syd Brunton slipped out on deck, looked at the 
mainsail to see which was the official lee side, and then 
mounted the poop ladder. As he glanced inside the 
companion-way at the clock, he heard the skipper’s 
voice. 

“I don’t like it, Seymour; I don’t like it. We’re 
far too near the coast for my comfort; and after the 
stories we’ve heard — well, you must admit the old 
hooker wouldn’t be a bad prize. We’ve got ten 

?74 


175 


Pirates 

thousand pounds in specie aboard, for one thing, and 
the cargo’s worth almost any price you like to put 
on it.” 

Syd remained; he was no eavesdropper by nature, 
but his brain was full of romantic dreams, and these 
words seemed pregnant with meaning. 

“But I thought a British gunboat went down the 
coast and burnt a lot of those piratical villages, sir,” 
said the second officer. “They surely must have learnt 
a lesson. And we could give a good account of our- 
selves if it came to a push.” 

“That’s where I’m scared. We have a few revol- 
vers, yes, but not nearly enough to arm all hands, and 
if that junk was a pirate she could do what she liked 
with us; those craft carry close on a hundred men 
apiece. I wish a breeze would come; I wish a breeze 
would come.” 

“What would you advise, sir? ” 

“We must make preparations; but I don’t like to 
appear as a scaremonger. If nothing happens I shall 
look a fool. Who’s that?” Syd had stirred. 

“Brunton, sir.” 

“Ah, the very thing. Brunton, come here.” 

Syd obeyed, and walked towards a bulking shape in 
the fog. 

“ I want you to get a couple of the boys and go down 
to the saloon. Tell the steward to give you the key of 
the transom locker, and get out all the revolvers and 
cartridges you find there. Bring them up to the chart- 
house and — do you know anything about firearms ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Load each revolver and place them all on 
the table; throw a cloth over them so that they won’t be 
seen. Report to me when you’ve done it.” 


17 6 Sons of the Sea 

Syd touched his cap, and dashed down to the half- 
deck, where Roy was sewing a patch on a pair of shock- 
ing trousers. Raymond was the only other cadet 
visible, the rest were forward washing their clothes, as 
it is the custom on Sunday morning at sea. 

“We’ve to go down aft — there’s a job,” said Syd. 
“Come on; you’re wanted, too, Raymond.” They 
went into the cabin, and there Syd communicated his 
news. Roy’s eyes bulged; Raymond whistled softly. 

“There’s something in the wind when the skipper 
gets nervous,” he said. “I noticed yesterday that we 
were uncommonly close to the land; the currents had 
set us in, I suppose. Well, if there’s going to be a 
fight, I shan’t be sorry. Steward, where’s the key of 
this transom locker ? ” 

The locker, being opened, revealed a large box 
within, and this being opened in its turn, showed a 
little armoury of some twelve revolvers, of all patterns, 
from the Navy Webley to the pocket Smith and 
Wesson. In olden times all ships carried a complete 
armoury of rifles and cutlasses, but with the disappear- 
ance of pirates from the seas, these luxuries were 
dispensed with. Now and then you may find a ship 
carrying an old Martini rifle, but the usual thing is to 
discover them totally unarmed, save for the personal 
weapons carried by the officers, maybe. 

The boys loaded the revolvers with expert fingers, 
and carried the weapons to the chart-house, obeying in- 
structions implicitly. Eight bells had struck whilst 
they were at work, but as it was Sunday, and as no work 
was required on the braces, the crew had not come aft. 
One man had relieved the wheel, indeed, but that was 
all. The third officer came on deck to relieve Mr. Sey- 
mour; Mr. Barker was still to some extent an invalid, 


177 


Pirates 

and incapable of keeping a regular watch, but the senior 
officers did not go below. Instead, they remained by 
the skylight, talking in low tones. 

Syd proceeded to the presence of the skipper, 
saluted, and reported that all was in order. 

“Very good, Brunton. Cut away to breakfast now.” 

Harry Longton served the morning meal, and dis- 
cussion ran on the dangers of fogs. Raymond related 
an experience during the previous voyage of the ship, 
when she was almost cut down by a big Atlantic liner, 
but neither he nor the other two made any mention of 
the preparations they had taken part in. 

“No use turning in; I suppose there’ll be church?” 
said Roy, when the meal was over. Raymond shook 
his head. 

“Not while this fog lasts,” he said. “But I don’t 
intend to turn in, for one.” 

“Nor I,” said Syd, opening his sea-chest. The re- 
volver was there ready to hand ; he fingered it lovingly. 
Perhaps, after all, his dreams were coming true ; 
perhaps there would be some adventure worthy the 
name ere long. 

On deck a strange air of suspense seemed to hang. 
The fog had stilled men’s tongues; sustained conver- 
sation was out of the question, for the boom of the 
fog-horn was loud. 

“Stop that fog-horn, for’ard ! ” suddenly came the 
captain’s voice from the break of the poop. The word 
was passed along the decks, and the bull-like bray 
ceased. 

“He’s heard something, that’s certain,” muttered 
Raymond. “I’m going out on deck, you chaps. 
Coming ? ” Syd and Roy tumbled over the sill and 
joined a knot of boys gathered by the break of the poop. 


i7 8 Sons of the Sea 

They were all listening intently, and Syd’s quick ears 
distinguished a faint creaking sound. 

“There’s something out there,” he said, pointing. 
As he spoke the third officer shouted from the starboard 
side: “Something moving to starboard, sir.” 

“Very good. Muster all hands aft — quickly.” The 
crew came aft, wondering what was afoot. 

“Men, it seems to me that there’s danger about,” 
said Captain Branksome swiftly. “There have been 
several cases of piracy in these waters, and last night 
we sighted a junk that wasn’t above suspicion. It 
may be a false alarm, but it’s best to be on the safe 
side. How many of you understand a revolver? ” 

“I, sir.” “I do, sir.” “Navy Reserve man, sir,” 
came the short cries from the mustered men. 

“Very well; the men who can use a pistol will come 
to the poop. Mr. Seymour, see that they are armed. 
The rest of you will arm yourselves with belaying-pins 
and hatch-battens; smart’s the word.” They broke 
away, moving briskly now that they knew trouble was 
afoot. 

“Let the smaller cadets go below and barricade 
themselves in their quarters,” said the captain. 

But Syd and Roy had other views. They were not 
going to be out of the scrap if they could help it, and, 
darting into the half-deck, Syd possessed himself of 
the revolver and slipped it into the waistband of his 
trousers. Roy scrambled to the top of the house and 
took possession of one of the skylight battens — a bar 
of iron some three feet long, a terrible weapon in capable 
hands. 

“The hands will muster on the poop,” said the 
captain. “There aren’t enough of us to hold the entire 
ship. I hope my suspicions are unfounded.” 


179 


Pirates 

The men formed themselves up on the poop, and 
silence fell for a while. Captain Branksome paced rest- 
lessly athwartships, and in so doing encountered Syd 
and Roy. 

“You boys should be below; what’s coming isn’t 
work for you,” he said. 

“Please, sir, can’t we stay? ” Syd touched the butt 
of his revolver. “I know how to use this, sir.” The 
captain smiled down on the pair, marking their expres- 
sions of grim determination. 

“If that’s the spirit shown by the youngsters we 
ought to win out,” he muttered. “Very well, stay; 
might as well get your throats cut in the open as down 
below. What’s that ? ” It was the decided creaking of 
long sweeps. Following the sound the sails lifted ever 
so slightly to a stray current of air and fell back against 
the masts with a thud. And then, with a suddenness 
that was alarming, the fog lifted in its entirety, to dis- 
close an oily sea. To disclose, too, a couple of big 
junks each within a cable’s length of the Cape Horn, 
and heading towards her at a pace that rapidly 
increased. 

The need for secrecy had passed with the lifting of 
the fog. The pirates — for undoubtedly they were 
Annamese pirates — gave vent to startling yells and 
shrieks; they bent to their monstrous sweeps, and the 
junks increased their pace. 

“Stand by — shoot when I give the word ! ” cried the 
captain, no longer nervous now that he could see his 
danger. His fine, bearded face showed fierce deter- 
mination. His right hand was in the pocket of his 
jacket, gripping a heavy revolver there. 

“Junks ahoy! ” he hailed in a voice that did not 
betray a single tremor. “ Keep off there ! ” The only 


i8o 


Sons of the Sea 

reply was an increase in the yelling uproar, and the 
unwieldy junks closed in. 

“We ought to have been better prepared,” said 
Seymour, swinging a crowbar lightly in his hand. 
“Our decks are wide open.” 

“We must try to hold the poop; so long as we do 
that they can’t take charge of the ship,” replied the 
captain. “Look out! ” 

The junks raced forward, the high, ugly bows of 
each one painted with glaring eyes — “No hab eyes, no 
can see,” as the Chinaman put it — and fastened grimly 
to the Cape Horn’s sides. Each vessel, as it came 
alongside, disgorged a crowd of dark-skinned, evil- 
faced men, armed in the main with murderous knives, 
at least two feet long. Few, if any, carried firearms; 
these scoundrels were well versed in the use of cold 
steel, and had seldom found it to fail them. 

“Don’t fire till I give the word,” cried Captain 
Branksome. “Now, men, fight your hardest; it’s win 
or die ! ” He shouted out to the swarming figures once 
more; they yelled defiance; then the captain fired 
sharply. A man spun round and fell to the deck; he 
was kicked aside like a log of wood; the others came 
tearing aft. 

But they were not to have the easy victory they 
imagined. Two men had cast the ladders adrift that 
led to the poop-deck ; the heavy steel storm-doors in the 
break of the poop were shut and securely bolted fast, 
and along the poop-break was a company of men, 
armed, and eager to be at their enemies’ throats. 

Syd felt his heart leap into his mouth, then it 
settled back into its normal place, but began to beat 
suffocatingly. Here, at last, was the kind of adventure 
for which his soul had craved; he was actually at war 


Pirates 181 

with pirates — not the picturesque rascals of his dreams, 
it is true, for these were filthy, murderous scum, without 
one redeeming feature; the kind of rapscallions who 
prefer to work by treachery rather than by open 
violence, but still pirates. They had hoped to surprise 
the Cape Horn ; they had expected to find her an ordinary 
merchant ship, totally unarmed; but having come so 
far it was too late to draw back. 

“Fire!” shouted Captain Branksome, and a dozen 
pistols spoke at once, right into the thick of that un- 
savoury mob. Several fell and lay still; one man, shot 
through the face, made a wild leap upwards, caught at 
the rail of the poop, gave a mighty spring, and landed 
on the deck. He lifted his formidable knife in the air, 
and, yelling strangely, leaped upon Mr. Seymour. 
Seymour was not familiar with firearms, but his crowbar 
swung downwards and the man collapsed, his troubles 
over for all time. 

By now the decks were filling with men ; they 
poured over both rails in a never-ceasing stream. Their 
cries were as the cries of legions of devils; they waved 
their knives aloft, and crowded, in a disorderly melee, 
towards the poop. It was plainly their determination 
to take charge of the ship and massacre every soul 
aboard her, prior to looting and burning her. 

They surged furiously at the break of the poop ; one 
or two flung their knives upwards, and a whirring blade 
flew by Roy Halliday’s ear. As he winced away he 
heard a sharp cry behind him that turned to a gurgle; 
something fell heavily against him : a sailor had taken 
the knife in his throat and was stricken to his death. 
Once again the rattle of revolver-fire sounded, and 
more of the pirates fell, but amongst such a horde the 
loss of a few hardly counted. A man sprang upwards, 


i 82 


Sons of the Sea 

he was thrust by his companions, and succeeded in 
gaining a hold. Syd was nearest ; he threw his revolver 
forward and fired; the man dropped backwards, shot 
through the brain. Syd had killed a man; an hour 
before the thought would have terrified him, but now 
the fighting lust was aroused in his heart. Roy 
Halliday struck at another face which appeared above 
the poop-deck, missed, staggered forward, and was 
snatched at by a muscular hand. Mr. Seymour brought 
his crowbar down with terrible force on the wrist 
belonging to that hand, and the possessor yelped. 
Roy stumbled back into the precarious safety of 
the poop. 

And now the fight grew fast and furious. Thrust 
on by those behind, the leaders of the attacking pirates 
were hurled upwards; scratching and screaming, they 
secured a footing on the elevated deck ; some were shot, 
but others constantly came on. They were like the tides 
of the sea, irresistible, overwhelming; but perhaps they 
had never encountered British seamen — and very angry 
British seamen at that — before. Merchant Jack does not 
mind taking legitimate risks, but when it comes to the 
chance of death at the hands of a filthy crowd of mur- 
derous pirates, he is apt to lose his temper. Those who 
had revolvers made brisk play with them; those who 
had not, swung their belaying-pins and hatch-battens 
with a vim that drove the marauders back for a moment 
and led them to take fresh counsel together. 

In the momentary breathing space that ensued men 
recharged their revolvers and wiped the sweat from their 
foreheads. The fork of Syd’s hand was black from the 
back-spit of the cheap revolver ; he had fired blindly for 
the most part, and did not know how many men he had 
killed, but there was a satisfaction in merely feeling the 


Pirates * 8 3 

sharp throw-back of the weapon each time he pulled the 
trigger. 

“Steady, men, they’re coming on again,” roared 
Captain Branksome, throwing up his hand and firing 
as the pirates closed in to the attack. Raymond had 
possessed himself of a capstan bar, and with this un- 
couth weapon he struck savage blows at the faces that 
appeared; the elder cadets were doing their utmost, 
armed as best they could. Only one had a revolver — his 
own, and this had jammed after half a dozen rounds and 
been fired. Yet what they lacked in resources they 
made up in pluck ; against an even number the scales of 
victory must have turned in the Britons’ favour. But 
what could less than two-score men and boys do against 
ten times their number of frantic brutes who asked 
nothing better than to dye their hands in their 
blood ? 

The pirates were adapting themselves to the condi- 
tions of their work. They had recognised that the poop 
must be won if possession of the ship were to be 
obtained, and now a gang of them formed in line and 
commenced to hurl their terrible knives at the defenders 
of the stronghold. Each man carried a girdle full of 
knives, the supply of ammunition seemed unlimited. 
The white men were perforce driven backwards, and as 
they recoiled — two men were down before they stirred — 
the pirates leaped forward like a rushing wave. A 
dozen of them gained the poop and stood there at bay ; 
revolvers rattled in their faces, several fell. Seymour 
and Raymond, swinging their terrible weapons, charged 
in. A knife stuck deeply in the second officer’s 
shoulder, he reeled forward, but Raymond, hurling his 
capstan bar at those who would have hacked him to 
pieces, leaped in and dragged him back. 


184 Sons of the Sea 

“Thanks for that,” gasped Mr. Seymour. “I’ll pay 
the debt some time.” The opportunity came sooner than 
he had expected, perhaps. Raymond, carried away by 
his success, sprang forward and aimed at the pirate 
nearest at hand a sweeping blow with Mr. Seymour’s 
crowbar, which he had picked up. His foot slipped in 
a pool of blood; he staggered; someone threw a knife 
that gashed his forehead and blinded him with blood. 
He was for the moment helpless, and Mr. Seymour saw 
it. Two men were rushing on him with knives. 

“Give me that, youngster,” roared the second 
officer, snatching Roy’s batten, and, like an old-time 
Viking, he hurled himself into the press. His left arm 
was useless, but his right was still serviceable. Once 
the terrible weapon fell, and a man’s skull was crushed 
in ; twice, and another man went down with a broken 
collar-bone, yelling frightfully. 

At this moment the Cape Horn's sails flapped 
noisily, swelled full, collapsed, and then filled 
afresh. 

“Cheerily, men, here comes a breeze!” cried 
Captain Branksome, who had been doing deeds of 
derring-do. “Drive them back — drive them back!” 
His men responded valiantly; another volley from the 
revolvers gave the pirates pause. But they came on 
again remorselessly, angered by the opposition they had 
encountered. Those who gained a footing on the poop 
made play with knives and clubs, until others mounted ; 
step by step the defenders were driven back. Another 
sailor fell, stabbed to the heart, but he did not long go 
unavenged. The man Forbes, the man who had 
attempted to murder Syd on more occasions than one, 
gave a roar like that of a charging lion, and rushed 
forward, firing as he went. Each shot brought down a 



“‘At them, we’re moving!’ boomed the captain, and Syd 
flew to his side” ( see -page 185). 











1 


‘ , 






' 























Pirates i g 5 

man, and as he cleared a space, Syd joined him, also 
firing briskly. Forbes recoiled with an empty revolver. 
Syd bore the brunt of the fight alone for a clear moment 
whilst the sailor recharged his weapon. Again Forbes 
threw up his hand and fired — the bullet tore the shirt 
on Syd’s shoulder, but in the confusion none took notice 
of it. 

“At them, we’re moving ! ” boomed the captain, and 
Syd flew to his side. The forepart of the poop was now 
in the pirates’ possession ; the knot of defenders were 
rallying about the mizen mast. The pirates came on in 
a body, but they were driven back. For one glorious 
minute Syd fought shoulder to shoulder with his cap- 
tain, and knew the clean joy of fighting in good 
company. Branksome brought down a huge villain ; as 
he fired a sailor dashed forward and was struck under 
the ribs by a two-foot knife. The sailor lurched for- 
ward, throwing his hands to his head; his slayer glared 
round, and as he glared Syd shot him at point-blank 
range. 

“Good, youngster; well done ! ” boomed the captain. 
“ Rally, men, rally ! ” The men did rally, they drove 
the attackers back a little way. Suddenly, from abaft 
the knot of Britons came a piercing wail ; Bully Briggs, 
his eyes distended, his face blanched as white as snow, 
broke through them. Blood streamed from his chest; a 
knife had taken him below the throat, and the agony 
must have stung him to madness. He was altogether 
unarmed, but careless of this fact he leaped on a man 
like a tiger and dragged him down. The man 
shortened his arm and stabbed viciously; Bully Briggs 
groaned, and — possessed for the moment of superhuman 
strength — lifted both himself and his opponent to their 
feet. Locked together, they reeled to the rail; Briggs 


i86 


Sons of the Sea 

gave a monstrous heave and flung the pirate clean 
overboard. Then he collapsed and lay gasping his life 
away in the scuppers. 

The wind was now gushing merrily through the 
riggings, the sails had rounded handsomely, the ship 
was making considerable way through the water, 
which had lost its oiliness and was rippling with happy 
little wavelets. 

But, strangely enough, it was little Hyatt, the 
youngest cadet aboard, the lad who had been bidden 
barricade himself, along with the other juniors, in the 
half-deck, who saved the ship. 

For something like an hour the youngster had heard 
the battle surge past him; he and the other two small 
boys had crouched in fear and trembling in the half- 
deck, wondering how soon they would be dragged forth 
and their throats cut. At times Hyatt had thrust his 
face close to a port and gazed out on the deck ; as often 
he had shrunk back appalled at the sight that greeted 
his eyes. And then he had seen his chance. The star- 
board junk had grappled the ship close alongside the 
half-deck; from a port on that side Hyatt could see the 
big grass rope strain over the rail. He climbed on the 
table and lifted the skylight; he looked aloft and saw 
the canvas swelling grandly, and the one great idea of 
his young life was born. 

“If that rope was cut,” he said to his terror-stricken 
companions, “if that rope was cut those beggars 
couldn’t overtake us again.” It was a stupendous 
thought. There was the taut rope, beyond it was the 
junk. A single cut with an axe would do the work, 
if only an axe were to be found. Hyatt remembered 
that an axe was kept in each boat in case of emergency ; 
he had assisted in cleaning but the quarter-boats not 


Pirates 187 

very long before. And the quarter-boats were fixed on 
skids alongside the half-deck. 

“Fasten this skylight down,” he said to his com- 
panions, and without pausing to give them an 
explanation of his actions, he scrambled out through 
the opening in the roof of the apartment and gained 
the deck above. He was unnoticed; there were pirates 
on the deck beneath him, but they had eyes only for the 
poop. Hyatt tore at the canvas cover of the starboard 
boat and got it clear ; a moment later he had possession 
of the keen little axe. 

Later he could never tell how he did it. But it must 
be remembered that he was as active as a cat; a lithe, 
undersized lad, but strong for his age. Be that as it 
may, he leaped into the now uncovered boat and peered 
over the further gunwale, to see beneath him the great 
junk, still containing many men. And there across the 
rail was the great grass rope. He drew a deep breath, 
slipped down the davit, and, with all his strength, 
brought down the axe across the prisoning rope. It 
parted with the crack of a gun, and immediately the 
junk drifted astern rapidly, for now the Cape Horn 
had gathered good way. Hyatt, scared at his own 
temerity, scrambled back to the boat, unobserved still, 
and lay there listening to his heart-beats. 

For a moment only he did this, and then, finding 
that his action had not brought instant destruction upon 
him, he began to gather heart. He lifted his head, 
expecting to see evil faces mowing and gibbering above 
him, but no one was there. He slipped out of the boat 
and across the roof of the half-deck — there was another 
junk to port. If he could cut the rope there, too, he 
might have done something worth while, to show those 
seniors that a boy was of some account. He scrambled 


i88 


Sons of the Sea 

over the boat-cover like a squirrel, dropped to the rail, 
and once again brought his axe crashing down. It was 
successful; the rope parted with a twang, and — Hyatt 
felt a sensation as though someone had thrust a red-hot 
iron into his side. One of the men aboard the junk had 
flung his knife, and the blade had scored a deep wound 
along the boy’s ribs. 

But he had done good work. An impulse seized him 
to leap to the deck and throw himself into the mel£e, but 
he resisted it, which was as well for him. Instead, he 
dragged himself back to the roof of the half-deck and 
hammered on the skylight until his terrified companions 
below opened it. Then he dropped through into safety 
and promptly fainted. 

The sight of the retreating junks worked in the 
hearts of those pirates who remained aboard the Cape 
Horn. Already they had suffered heavily; one or two 
of their leaders were down ; it seemed to them as though 
they were being left to their fate. Scores of them 
rushed to the rails and shouted to the junks, which, 
capable of being handled in light winds, were sluggish 
in such a breeze as was now blowing. The junks could 
not overtake the sailing ship ; many of the pirates flung 
themselves overboard and began to swim strongly away. 

“Close up and charge!” bellowed Captain Brank- 
some, himself leading the way. His men obeyed 
gallantly, and for the space of five minutes such a 
confusion reigned as cannot be described. 

It was hand to hand for the most part, pistol butt 
and seaman’s knife against the pirates’ steel. But there 
were British hearts behind the butts and points; British 
arms swung them ; the pirates gave back, slowly at first, 
more swiftly later. There arrived on the scene a new 
recruit — no other than Sammy Longstaffe. Yes, the 


Pirates 189 

ordinary seaman and no other. Let it be remembered 
that Sammy had recovered his physical strength, 
although his mind was an absolute blank; he was 
simply an unreasoning animal. But he had heard from 
the hospital below the stamp and clang of the battle, 
and something had worked within him strangely. He 
climbed into the cabin, and found there the steward 
alone, armed with a huge carving knife, afraid to ven- 
ture out on deck, but resolved, maybe, to sell his life 
dearly if the cabin were invaded. Sam climbed the com- 
panion-way and peered forth; he saw what was afoot, 
although he did not understand its import. He saw 
Syd Brunton stagger away from a black-visaged 
scoundrel, and the sight wakened something of instinct 
in Sammy’s being. 

He dashed below and snatched the great carving- 
knife from the steward’s hand, and with it leaped on 
deck, to plunge full into the thick of the matter. White- 
faced, wide-eyed, clad only in shirt and trousers, he 
leaped on a pirate and ran him through. He 
dashed back and stabbed another under the armpit; 
he was like a ravening lion; as he fought he screamed 
in sharp staccato yells. Three men were accounted for 
in this way, and then a man sprang behind him and 
struck him down with his club. Captain Branksome 
shot the one who struck that blow, but it was too late. 
Sammy lay quite still on the blood-stained deck, and 
the fight raged on above him. 

But not for long. The scales were turned; the 
whites were conquering. They drove the pirates for- 
ward to the break of the poop, they drove them from 
that point to the quarter-deck; many leaped overboard, 
the rest began to break and scatter. The sailors, allow- 
ing their fury full play, followed them, with no thoughts 


I 9° Sons of the Sea 

of mercy in their hearts, and the tale of slaughter was 
very grim. 

Presently the sounds of battle ceased, there was no 
longer any opposition. The decks were cleared of the 
murderous horde ; dead bodies lay everywhere, but save 
for a stray pirate or two who had snugged themselves 
away in dark corners, the Cape Horn was free again 
and in safety. 

Captain Branksome wiped the sweat and blood from 
his face and stared grimly around. Many of his crew 
had fallen for ever, many more had been severely 
injured, there was hardly a man but had some shrewd 
wound or bruise to show. He looked astern and marked 
how the junks were tumbling about in the chop that was 
rising, and quickly he made up his mind. 

“Lee fore-brace ! ” he cried, and the exhausted men 
contrived to drag themselves forward. The yards were 
pointed, the Cape Horn came up to the wind, she reached 
away on the starboard tack. For a space of twenty 
minutes she ran on thus, and then : 

“Hands, tack ship ! ” came the clear order. Wonder- 
ingly the men obeyed, the ship was cast about, and 
now she was heading to a point some twenty degrees 
to windward of the nearer junk. Captain Branksome 
stumbled aft to the wheel, and laid hold of the spokes 
himself. From the ship’s high poop it was possible to 
see clearly along her decks; and now the men began 
to realise what was afoot. The moment of vengeance 
was near at hand. Captain Branksome shouted an 
order; those men capable of obeying it flocked to the 
forecastle head, holding themselves in readiness. The 
captain steadied his helm, he hove it up inch by inch, 
until the bow bore almost dead on the nearer junk. 

What happened happened swiftly. The pirates saw 


Pirates 19 1 

what was coming and commenced to yell; they dis- 
charged a jingal full of small-shot and wire at the 
onward speeding bow. But such futile artillery was 
of no avail. On flew the Cape Horn ; handled deftly, 
she swooped down on the junk; men began to spring 
overboard with wild cries, but nothing could check the 
oncoming death. The sharp steel bow struck the junk 
amidships and cut it clean in two, the halves falling 
away on either side. 

“That’ll teach them a lesson,” said Captain Brank- 
some shakily. “We can’t catch the other, I’m afraid.” 
And so the word was given to square away, and a course 
was set for Hong Kong. The battle was over, and 
victory was with the Cape Horn. 

But the price paid was terrible — there were many 
gaps in the ranks. Four men had been killed outright, 
another died that night. Bully Briggs was dead; an- 
other cadet also had been slashed to ribbons ; Raymond 
was seriously wounded; Syd Brunton had lost a lot of 
blood, as had Roy Halliday. Mr. Seymour was hors 
de combat; the third officer had three wounds to show; 
whilst Captain Branksome himself was gashed and 
bruised all over, because he had borne the brunt of the 
fight, and the marvel was that he remained alive to tell 
the tale. 

Still, they had won out, and though the price was 
heavy, it were better so than that all hands should have 
been slaughtered unconditionally. But for all the rest of 
that Sunday, far into the night, aye, and during next 
day, the ship was like a shambles and a hospital 
combined. 

They threw the dead pirates overboard to the sharks 
— and there were many of them dead. Some few were 
wounded, and these were attended to after the crew 


192 


Sons of the Sea 

were comfortably disposed ; but Captain Branksome was 
taking no chances, and in addition to disarming the 
prisoners, he had them placed under secure lock and 
key in the ship’s fore-peak, where they could do no 
harm. Two men were found uninjured, stowed away 
amongst the cables forward; they attempted to make 
resistance, but were speedily overpowered. 

“We’ll keep them for hanging,” said Captain 
Branksome grimly. “It will be a lesson to the swabs 
about this coast.” 

Sammy Longstaffe was not dead — the lad’s power of 
life was marvellous. He was again unconscious, but 
he breathed evenly, and although his head was severely 
bruised, there was no apparent reason why he should 
not live. 

“And it might be,” said Captain Branksome, “that 
he will recover his senses after his second blow; I’ve 
heard of such cases happening.” 

Without further adventures the Cape Horn swept on 
her way, and within another ten days, close on four 
months out from home, she anchored in the harbour of 
Hong Kong, and Syd’s first deep-water passage was 
over. 


CHAPTER XIV 

Hong Kong 

The arrival of the ship in Hong Kong created some- 
thing of consternation as soon as her story was known. 
She became an object of interest to all the inhabitants 
of the port; all day long she was surrounded by such 
a marvellous swarm of craft as made the cadets wonder 
whether they actually lived in the twentieth century, 
or whether they had slipped a cog and gone back to 
the Middle Ages. There were unwieldy country boats, 
containing whole families of Chinamen ; there were 
smart steam launches, belonging to English residents 
and wealthy Chinese taipings; there were cutters and 
cat-boats, launches, pinnaces and dinghies, until it 
seemed as though not a single craft in the whole wide 
world was unrepresented there. 

But chief of all was the smart steam pinnace of 
H.M.S. Calypso , the guardship, which steamed along- 
side within ten minutes of the great bower anchor drop- 
ping to the mud. To the lieutenant in charge Captain 
Branksome told his story, and showed his official log 
in which the whole account was written out at length. 
The lieutenant made an excuse and went on deck, sent 
the pinnace back to the guardship, and when the little 
white craft returned she bore in her stern the captain 
of the battleship himself. 

N 


193 


194 Sons of the Sea 

The prisoners were produced for inspection, the 
wounded were viewed. 

“I’ll send my surgeon aboard at once,” said Captain 
De Vere. “But I would recommend you to have them 
sent ashore — they can get better attention there. As 
for the prisoners — well, that’s the Admiral’s affair, but 
we’ll take care of them pro tem. Knightly, signal to 
the Calypso to send a barge and a guard of marines.” 

Shortly afterwards the Annamese prisoners, heavily 
manacled, and scowling hatred at their captors, were 
bundled over the side and sent to the man-o’-war. To 
make short of a long matter it may be stated here that 
they were tried, sentenced to death, and executed within 
a fortnight of the Cape Horn’s arrival in port. They 
pass out of the story for ever. 

“There’ll be a row over this outrage,” said Captain 
De Vere, when his lieutenant returned to report that 
the guard was on the way. “In a way I’m glad they 
attacked you — sorry for your losses, of course ; but now 
that they’ve tried their tricks on a British ship we get 
our chance. I shall urge the Admiral to dispatch a 
cruiser to harry their coasts; they ought to be smoked 
out like rats.” 

Syd Brunton had been brought into the cabin to give 
his version of the affair, and Captain De Vere eyed him 
thoughtfully. Syd’s wounds were not yet fully healed, 
and Captain Branksome had spoken in glowing terms 
of his young subordinate’s behaviour under trying 
circumstances. 

“You ought to be in the Navy, my lad,” said the 
naval officer. “We want men of your stamp. It’s a 
thousand pities you can’t be transferred across the way 
to the Calypso , but it isn’t the law. Still, you’ll be 
going in for the Reserve, I suppose; and when you’ve 


Hong Kong *95 

got your appointment, apply for my ship — I’ll keep m) 
eye on you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Syd quietly, “but the mer- 
chant service is good enough for me.” 

“Right you are; I like loyalty. Now, as I was 
saying, Branksome, we’ll move heaven and earth to gel 
a cruiser dispatched down the coast. I hope the French 
authorities will see eye to eye with us — they’ve never 
managed that portion of their dominions really well. 
But we’ll see, we’ll see.” 

The Admiral himself came off to the Cape Horn and 
was shown the scene of the battle. He regarded it 
thoughtfully for a full minute and then crashed his fist 
down on the skylight. 

“I’d have given my half-pay to be with you,” he 
said. “I’m a Navy man and I’ve never been in such 
a scrap as that; you merchant service people seem to 
get all the cream of what’s going.” 

Two days later the Hyanthe, a powerful cruiser, left 
Ilong Kong on a mission of retribution. Represen- 
tations had been made to the French Government, and 
as there was no cruiser of that nationality in those 
waters, it had been arranged that the Hyanthe should 
undertake the work. The cruiser bore orders to seek 
out the piratical strongholds and burn and destroy 
whithersoever she went; and she fulfilled her orders to 
the letter. 

But it is necessary to follow the fortunes of the boys 
of the Cape Horn in general, and Syd and Roy in 
particular. 

When all the seriously wounded had been removed 
ashore to hospital, the work of the ship was resumed, 
and there was much to be done. For apart from the 
damage that had resulted from her terrible experiences 


i9 6 Sons of the Sea 

down the Easting, the ship had suffered in several ways 
from the pirates’ attack. Her woodwork was slashed 
and hacked terribly; bullets had scored deep grooves 
in her planking ; everywhere one looked were grim traces 
of the experience. Carpenters were brought from the 
shore to effect repairs; fresh hands were signed on, to 
replace those who had lost the number of their mess, 
and after a little while the ship was restored to her 
normal appearance. 

But although there was plenty of work there was 
abundance of play for the cadets, or for such of them 
as were not in hospital. Each day the ship’s gig and 
pinnace were swung out and manned, and the boys were 
thoroughly instructed by the third officer in the handling 
of the craft under both oars and sails. They rowed 
about the harbour; they challenged the apprentices of 
other sailing ships to races, and they won several of 
them; each morning the captain’s gig was at the gang- 
way to receive the great man as he went ashore, and 
Syd Brunton was installed as cadet-in-charge of this 
craft. Be sure he was a proud lad. 

The residents ashore feted the boys, remembering 
that partly through their efforts the Cape Horn’s rich 
cargo had been preserved in safety. They were taken 
to all the places of interest; they were mounted on 
ponies and rode through the rice-fields ; they were given 
double-barrels and allowed to indulge in snipe shooting 
to their heart’s content. Indeed, they had a royal time. 

But it would require another book to tell of their 
adventures in Hong Kong alone. They were taken up 
the river to Canton, the weird Chinese city that has 
altered hardly at all for a thousand years; they cruised 
round the near-by coasts; they did everything worth 
while. They lost themselves in the native quarter and 


197 


Hong Kong 

were found again ; they ate more fruit than was good for 
them, too; and daily they grew more fascinated with 
their existence. To be sure they had sorrowed over 
those who had gone out in the fight; the half-deck 
seemed bigger than it had been wont to appear, and 
they even missed Bully Briggs. The pimply-faced one 
had rendered himself obnoxious, but now they remem- 
bered only his good points, and remembered, too, how 
he had died fighting gallantly. 

But youthful memories do not long concern them- 
selves with the sad side of life, and before long Roy 
and Syd had wellnigh forgotten the discomforts of the 
voyage in the rush of pleasures that filled each day. 
There were letters awaiting the ship’s arrival. Roy had 
several ; but poor Syd, alas ! had none. Still, Roy’s 
were common property, as were the money-orders they 
contained, and with a full exchequer the two chums 
were able to avail themselves of the many opportunities 
that were given them for enjoyment to the full. 

So a month went by, at the end of which time the 
majority of the invalids were returned to duty, and the 
time drew near when the Cape Horn , with a new cargo 
under hatches, would turn her bow to the sea afresh and 
speed towards home. 

Her decks were always full of chattering coolies, 
labourers, ship-cleaners and the like, to say nothing 
of the multitude of curio sellers and guides, who dis- 
played their wares most cunningly on every bare spot 
of the decks. The spare corners of the half-deck were 
filled with carved models of sampans, ivory figures and 
the like. On one of these days, when Syd was haggling 
with a seller of strange goods, Forbes left the forecastle 
and passed quite near. Under pretence of rolling up 
his trousers he halted close by, and heard Syd ask the 


i9 8 Sons of the Sea 

curio seller for a model of a junk. The lad quite natur- 
ally wanted something to remind him of the fight. 

“No hab got junk,” said the vendor of strange relics. 
“I gotee slampan, I gotee clountly boat, I gotee sail- 
ship, no got junk.” 

“But I want one,” persisted Syd. “You can get 
one made for me, can’t you ? ” 

“Me savvee plenty; I getee junk bimeby; s’pose you 
comee lookee at my shop, I show you evelyt’ing.” 

Forbes passed on for the time being ; but as he busied 
himself with paint-brush and pot on a stage outside the 
hull — they took advantage of the ship’s being in port to 
beautify her without — he was very thoughtful. 

“The blasted boy seems to have as many lives as a 
cat,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve a good mind to 
chuck up the game altogether and clear out here; 
needn’t ever go back home again. Why didn’t he get 
wiped out when them massacreeing pirates came aboard ? 
Why didn’t he get smashed up in that blow we had? 
There’s no killing him, unless ” He grew thought- 

ful again, and presently an unpleasant smile crossed 
his face. 

“That would do — yes, that ought to do,” he said. 
“I’ll see old Chow Sing and tap him.” 

A little later he climbed from the plank stage that 
was slung overside and went along the deck. Chow 
Sing, the vendor of curios, dozed peacefully amongst 
his stock; trade was slack for the nonce. Forbes 
turned over one or two trifles of no value, and saw a 
pair of beady eyes half open to fix themselves on his 
face. 

“You likee buy ? ” 

He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Not 
anything you’ve got here, Chow,” he said. “Look 


Hong Kong 199 

here, wouldn’t you like a drink?” He had a private 
store of liquor which he had purchased in the city 
whilst ashore on leave. The expressionless face of the 
Chinaman seemed to show interest although not a 
muscle moved. He slowly got to his feet and swept his 
stock into its appointed baskets. 

“I likee dlink,” he said mournfully. Forbes went 
into the forecastle, which at this time of day was empty, 
and satisfied that no eavesdroppers were present, he 
beckoned the Celestial within. 

“Here you are,” he said, and poured out a copious 
draught. Chow Sing imbibed it dexterously, and held 
out the pannikin for more. 

“Open for a job ? ” asked Forbes. 

“ What sortee job ? ” 

“A good one, that’ll mean money in your pocket. 
An easy one, too. No risk if you go the right way 
about it.” 

Now the Chinaman, although speaking pidgin Eng- 
lish, understood the language very well, and he was as 
cunning as a Celestial can be, which is saying a good 
deal. His pretended simplicity was merely a cloak to 
hide his natural roguery. 

“It’s a boy I want to get rid of,” said Forbes softly, 
drawing a little nearer. “The boy who was asking you 
to get him a model junk.” 

“Nicee boy; good customel. I likee nicee boy.” 

“Scupper him, Chow, and it’s twenty dollars in your 
pocket, and no questions asked. You can do it — same 
as you did Peabody, off the Atalanta.” 

It would be a mistake to say that Chow’s expression 
changed, but somehow his face showed what might have 
been terror. 

“ I know all there is to know about him,” said Forbes. 


200 


Sons of the Sea 

“He went into your shop and he never came out alive. 
But if I went to the U.S. Consul and told him what 
I knew ” 

“ What harm lillee boy done you ? ” 

“Any amount. I want him out of the road for good. 
Are you going to do it ? ” 

“I no can do it; he welly blave boy.” 

“Yes, you can; you can do it easily. I’ll tell you 
how.” Forbes drew a little closer and whispered, the 
Chinaman nodding a grave accompaniment. Presently 
the matter was arranged satisfactorily; and Forbes, 
offering another drink and taking one himself, went 
back to his work. As he slashed away with the paint- 
brush he smiled more than once to himself. 

Next day Chow Sing was once more back aboard 
the Cape Horn, and as usual he spread out his stock- 
in-trade. Syd, occupied in tallying out a few packages 
of important cargo, did not turn up for some time, 
but when he emerged from the hold, a trifle grimy as 
to hands and face, and intent on a wash, Chow 
hailed him. 

“You speakee me you likee junk?” said the 
Chinaman. 

“ Rather. Have you got me one ? ” 

Chow Sing shook his head slowly. 

“I gotee man to make him. S’pose you come to 
my shopee, you tellee him all you likee. You know 
my shopee, eh ? ” 

“No; I can’t say I do. Where is it?” 

Chow Sing entered into exhaustive explanations, 
which Syd took in. The lad was more than a little 
pleased at the chance of securing what he wanted, and 
he resolved to avail himself of this opportunity. He 
fancied that he could explain to the carver what he 


201 


Hong Kong 

required in every detail, which would be much better 
than obtaining a junk something like the piratical 
craft. He made an appointment to visit Chow Sing’s 
establishment that same evening, and went to the 
half-deck for his wash. 

Later the same day he broached the subject to 
Roy. 

“Coming ashore to-night?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t thinking of it; it’s mail-day to-morrow, 
and I’ve got to write home to-night; promised the 
mater I’d never miss a mail. Where are you going?” 

Syd hesitated. The boys were forbidden to go to 
the native quarter after nightfall, and he had no wish 
to lay himself open to a reprimand. There were one 
or two of the senior cadets in the half-deck at the 
time. 

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” he said. “I thought 
I’d just take a stroll round. If you won’t come I’ll 
go by myself.” 

He went ashore after supper, using the boat that 
was in constant attendance on the ship. For a while 
he loitered about the city, and then, with a glance 
around to make sure that he was unobserved, headed 
towards the native quarter. It was not a really difficult 
matter to find Chow Sing’s shop — a tumble-down place 
in a filthy side street ; but as he picked his way amongst 
the garbage sundry qualms began to assail the lad. 
He wished he had brought his revolver with him ; 
he had a feeling of intense loneliness. He was in two 
minds whether to go on or turn back, but he was 
very anxious to secure the model junk. Finally he 
drew in a deep breath and went forward, staring 
curiously to right and left, holding his head high : 
a typical Briton abroad. 


202 Sons of the Sea 

“You likee see my shopee?” demanded Chow 
Sing. 

Syd signified his willingness, and was led through 
many labyrinths to the back premises, where two or 
three native craftsmen were busily at work. An ancient 
workman, who must have numbered at least a hundred 
years, with great horn spectacles on his nose, was 
fashioning a model junk from a piece of odorous 
sandal-wood, and the delicate skill with which he 
handled his tools delighted the watcher. He stood 
there for several minutes, Chow Sing throwing out 
hints, and asking the lad’s advice as to sundry details 
in the junk’s construction; and then, with an air of 
mystery, Chow Sing laid hold of Syd’s sleeve. 

“You velly blave boy,” he chattered. “Velly blave 
boy. You likee see afyim smokee?” 

Syd had been long enough in the East to be aware 
that “afyim” meant opium, and it came to him that 
here was a chance in a thousand, to enter a bona fide 
opium den. It was an opportunity not to be missed; 
he would be able to gloat over the other boys in the 
half-deck to his heart’s content. 

“Rather; show me your opium den,” he said. 

“Chinamen not likee see white boy; they velly 
angly. S’pose Chinamen kickee up a shine, you not 
blamee me ? ” 

“No; I can look after myself,” said Syd calmly. 
He was sixteen years old, and under the impression 
that one British boy was equal to an unlimited number 
of Celestials if it came to trouble. 

“Then you comee dlis way,” said Chow Sing, and 
led the lad along another labyrinth of passages to 
where a small door showed. 

A moment later Syd was standing in a Chinese 


203 


Hong Kong 

opium den, straining his eyes to see through the acrid, 
nauseating smoke which filled the place. He could 
see but little : a few bunks on either side held sleeping 
forms; in the centre of the place a wizened yellow- 
skinned man was cooking opium over a small spirit 
lamp. Syd’s first feeling was one of disgust; when 
a man in one of the bunks began suddenly to mutter 
and yell fear clawed at him. He wished he had not 
come. 

“Let’s get out of this,” he said, with a shudder of 
apprehension. “I’ve seen enough, thanks; let’s get 
out.” 

At sound of his voice the wizened yellow man 
lifted his head, shot a glance of hatred at the boy, 
and then, without a moment’s warning, whipped out 
a long, evil knife, got to his feet with truly remark- 
able celerity, and came for him, gnashing his teeth 
and rolling his eyes. 

Startled, Syd stepped backwards and almost tripped 
over Chow 7 Sing’s foot. He recovered himself and 
dodged the blow the old Chinaman aimed at him, and, 
in dodging, his fingers came in contact wfith a heavy 
wooden stool. This he snatched up, and, holding it 
above his head, backed towards the wall. He realised 
that he had been foolish; he should never have come 
to this den of iniquity. But it was too late for self- 
blame; self-preservation w r as his main consideration. 
He warded off another blow 7 , and brought the stool 
dowm crashingly on the old man’s head. The would-be 
assassin lunged aside and dropped his knife, at the 
same time shouting shrilly. 

At the word several forms leaped from the bunks 
and came towards the boy. 

“ Help ! help ! ” he yelled at the top of his voice, 


204 


Sons of the Sea 

recognising that if his life were spared it must be by 
a miracle alone. But though scared abominably he 
did not lose his presence of mind. 

The Chinamen, of whom there were now four, were 
armed with knives and nothing else, and it was possible, 
by dint of swinging the heavy stool at arm’s length, 
to keep them at such a distance as prohibited the 
free use of their knives. 

“Help! help!” shouted Syd again, as the ring of 
yellow faces surged closer. He knew quite well that 
his death was very near; these men meant murder. 
Enraged at having their privacy invaded they would 
not let the intruder escape. 

“Help! help!” cried the lad again, and hopeless 
fear clawed at his heart. He was all alone in a den 
of murderous scoundrels who did not know the first 
meaning of mercy. 

Why did not Chow Sing interfere? But Chow 
Sing had vanished completely. 

“Whoa, dere, chilt*, what’s de matter?” demanded 
a rolling voice, and into the thick of the mel£e plunged 
Snowball, the big black seaman of the Cape Horn . 
He did not stop to make inquiries; he simply doubled 
down, and, using his head as a battering-ram, charged 
the foremost of the knife-armed men in the pit of his 
stomach, bowling him over like a ninepin. He caught 
another by neck and leg, and slammed him into the 
face of a third, and, still retaining* his grip, hammered 
his human weapon against the wall until the man 
collapsed in his hands. 

“Chew de water-melon!” he thundered, glaring 
around for fresh foes on whom to vent his wrath. But 
the one remaining Chinaman had slunk away, appalled 
by the black’s ferocity. Snowball made a hasty dive 


Hong Kong 205 

and picked Chow Sing up from the corner where he 
had stowed himself away. 

“Show de way out ob dis,” he bellowed magnifi- 
cently. “Sabby dat, you yaller debil ? Show de way 
out.” He caught the owner of the den in a hold that 
caused his eyes to start from his head, and, thrusting 
him before him, bade Syd follow close at heel. 

Chow Sing writhed and screamed, but the black 
would not let him go. When the Chinaman drew a 
knife and made a lightning-like slash behind at his 
captor, Snowball merely grunted and tightened his 
hold, at the same time administering a painful kick 
that sent his captive along at a faster pace than any 
he had known before in all probability. 

So, after devious windings, they emerged into the 
upper shop and safety. Snowball kicked Chow Sing 
without ceremony into a corner, and took Syd by 
the arm. 

“Come outer dis,” he gurgled. “Mighty lucky fo’ 
you I smoke a small pipe ob opium dis night. Dem 
fellers t’ink no more ob killing you dan ef yo’ was 
a fly. Yallerskins ain’t to be trusted, Massa Brunton ; 
no, dey ain’t.” 

His skin was shining from his exertions, his mighty 
chest heaved and fell stormily, but he exposed his glitter- 
ing ivories in a resplendent smile. 

“I see you safe down to de ship, Massa Brunton,” 
he said, as they reached the street. “Dem yallerskins 
might try dere tricks agin. I t’ink you best not come 
ashore by yo’selfs agin.” 

A piece of advice that Syd was very much disposed 
to follow. He had received a thorough scare; his 
soul was shivering within him. He knew that but for 
the providential appearance of the black his throat must 


206 


Sons of the Sea 

certainly have been slit ; but as it was, beyond a bruise 
or two, he was none the worse for his experience. 

It would be a great tale to tell Roy, he thought, 
as he walked briskly alongside the big black. 

“I t’inks you better not say a single word, Massa 
Brunton, ob dis adventure,” rumbled Snowball. “I 
no’ like dem white fellers for to know I smoke opium 
now and den. I t’inks we both keep mum, eh?” 

Syd acquiesced, although regretting the fact that 
Roy would not know the truth of the matter now. 

As they proceeded Snowball explained that, obtain- 
ing a day’s leave of absence from the boatswain, he 
had visited the den known to him of old, and that 
he was just recovering from his opium sleep when 
he heard Syd’s voice raised in alarm. 

“I t’inks, ‘ Hallo, dere’s a white man in trouble,’” 
he said; “an’ we white men hab to stick togedder 
among dem yallerskins.” 

Syd could have laughed at the solemnity of the 
assurance, but gratitude forbade. And so, without 
further adventure, they reached the Cape Horn and 
went aboard. 

Next day Chow Sing did not appear, nor the 
next. What Forbes thought may best be left to the 
imagination, but the sailor did not find any thought 
of mercy to soften his heart. Somehow or’ other, he 
said, he would find a means to earn his promised pay, 
and dispose of Syd to his guardian’s content. 

The Cape Horn was rapidly being made ready for 
sea again. New lifeboats had been brought aboard to 
replace those smashed by the gale; her damages had 
been made good; she was once more in perfect trim 
alow and aloft. The captain of the Calypso made a 
visit aboard, to inform Captain Branksome that the 


207 


Hong Kong 

.punitive cruiser had burnt three native villages along 
the Annamese coast, had sunk half a dozen junks, 
and generally made herself obnoxious to the piratical 
gang ; also her crew had discovered great accumulations 
of loot, which threw a remarkable sidelight on the actual 
fate of several ships that had been rumoured lost in 
the gales that had occurred within the past two years. 

The invalids were either back aboard by now or 
else they were permanently declared ineffective, and 
substitutes were engaged in their places. On several 
occasions Syd and Roy had visited the hospital to see 
their wounded shipmates ; particularly did Syd devote 
much time to Sammy Longstaffe. As for Harry 
Longton, every moment that he could spare from his 
duties he spent at his friend’s bedside. 

The hospital surgeon shook his head when ques- 
tioned as to Sammy’s progress. 

“It’s rather a remarkable case,” he said. “You 
say he doesn’t know you? I’m not surprised, and 
yet he’s as sane as you or I. But the blows he’s had 
seem to have destroyed his memory; he’s forgotten 
everything that happened before the first blow was 
struck. It’s really a remarkable case.” 

It was, for poor Sammy had lost his memory; all 
that had transpired before that night in the mizen top 
was a hopeless blank to him. He was very grateful 
for Syd’s and Roy’s attention, and, in a way, he 
seemed to know Harry, but his brain was clouded 
strangely. 

“Physically he’s quite fit,” said the surgeon on a 
day shortly before the Cape Horn was due to leave 
port. “And I think he ought to finish the voyage 
with you, although he’ll probably have to be taught 
his work all over again. But he might see something 


208 


Sons of the Sea 

that will remind him of the past, and the awakening 
of his brain might come suddenly, without any warn- 
ing. Something quite trifling might bring it about.” 

He expressed this opinion to Captain Branksome, 
and the skipper agreed that it would be wise to give 
Sammy the opportunity of recovering his lost memory. 
Therefore, when the Cape Horn, loaded to her marks 
with the produce of the East, was taken in tow by a 
fussy tug that belched forth enormous quantities of 
black smoke, and dipped her ensign to the Calypso, 
Sammy Longstaffe was amongst her crew again, 
moving about with wide-open eyes and an abstracted 
manner, getting in people’s way, and making himself 
something of a nuisance, but very willing to oblige. 
The story of his afflictions had spread about the ship, 
and general sympathy was felt for him, although Forbes 
was not one of those who condoled. Forbes was a 
trifle uneasy; he wished that he had deserted the ship. 
Then he reflected that it was hardly likely the lad’s 
brain would ever clear, and rested his soul in peace. 


CHAPTER XV 

Sammy Longstaffe : Accuser 

It was in latitude 5 0 35' N., longitude 15 1° W., when 
Sammy Longstaffe’s brain awakened. The Cape Horn 
had run smoothly on her way towards her stormy 
namesake, wild Cape Horn ; she had sighted an out- 
lying island of the Carolines, and now a squall of 
some magnitude had smitten her savagely, sending 
the hands aloft like bees to bring the clashing, slam- 
ming canvas to order. 

The hum of striving was in the air : sprays splashed 
and thudded aboard with ever-increasing violence. But 
smugged down to her topsails she sped along mag- 
nificently, and as there was much work to be done 
the crew were kept actively employed. 

“Forbes, get an eyesplice put in the towing 
hawser,” ordered the boatswain, as the starboard watch 
came on deck at four o’clock that day. “Take a boy 
to help you — there’s young Longstaffe; he’s not much 
use, but he can do a thing when he’s told.” 

The sailor called Sammy and informed him of what 
was to be done. Sammy acquiesced with an almost 
pitiful eagerness to make himself useful. During the 
past few days he had been troubled by faint glimmer- 
ings of returning consciousness; he had gone instinc- 
tively to a rope when bidden so to do; he had many 
a time lifted his head and looked with a brightening 

209 


o 


2X0 


Sons of the Sea 

face at the people about him. During the afternoon 
watch below he had been disturbed, and had muttered 
a good deal. 

Forbes proceeded to take the end of the great wire 
tow-rope from its winch ; he laid it out on the deck, 
and stripped off the service at the old splice. Frequent 
exposure had rusted the wire almost through in places, 
and it would be necessary to cut the damaged portion 
off and start afresh on a piece that had not been 
affected by the weather. 

“Nip along to the carpenter and borrow a big 
maul and a cutting chisel,” said Forbes to Sammy. 

Sammy slipped away and swiftly returned with the 
requisite implements. 

Forbes lifted the end of the tow-rope to the top of 
the big mooring bits forward, and marked a place. 

“Hold the chisel there,” he said. 

The broad-edged chisel was fixed into a handle to 
safeguard the hands of the one who held it. Sammy 
obeyed his instructions to the letter; Forbes lifted the 
hammer aloft, and as he brought it down the ship 
gave a sharp lurch, which threw Sammy forward. 
He recovered himself actively, but the hammer had 
descended, just grazing his head. He felt a little sick 
and giddy, but gathering himself together he clutched 
the chisel again and replaced it on the wire. 

“Hurt you ? ” asked Forbes, without much sympathy 
in his voice. Perhaps he was wishing the blow had 
been a more fatal one. 

“No; go on,” said Sammy, gritting his teeth 
together because of the acute pains that were shooting 
through his head. 

Forbes swung the weighty hammer aloft, and as 
he did so Sammy looked up. 


Sammy Longstaffe: Accuser 211 

He had seen such a sight before : the black- 
visaged sailor heaving himself upwards for a blow. 
And he himself had crouched before him like this — 
like this. 

The boatswain was standing near at hand, and Syd 
Brunton, working on the top of the fore-house, sud- 
denly shouted aloud. The combination of circumstances 
was irresistible. Sammy dropped the chisel with a 
crash, and, taking no heed to anything else save the 
picture that had come back to his memory, leaped like 
a tiger-cat at Forbes’s throat. 

“You murderer! ” he screamed in a terrible voice. 
“You murderer!” 

Forbes recoiled; his foot slipped on the wet deck; 
he crashed downwards, Sammy still clinging madly 
to his throat. 

The boatswain hurried forward; one or two other 
men working near at hand followed. 

“Let up there, youngster; let up!” 

“You murderer! ” screamed Sammy, wrenching at 
the sailor’s throat. “You’d try to murder Mister 
Brunton — would you ? — you’d try to murder ” 

Two men caught him and wrenched him clear ; he 
struggled fiercely in their arms. 

“That man’s a murderer! ” he cried. “Let me get 
at him ; let me get at him ! ” 

“He’s mad,” said Forbes, picking himself up. But 
the man’s face was white as chalk, his lips were colour- 
less, and the fear of death was in his eyes. 

“What’s the matter here?” It was Mr. Seymour, 
who had walked along the deck to witness for himself 
the state of affairs. “What’s wrong, bosun?” 

“This youngster’s just attacked Forbes, sir. Calls 
him a murderer.” 


212 


Sons of the Sea 

Mr. Seymour showed interest in his face. 

“What do you mean by that, Longstaffe?” he said 
quietly. He kept his eyes fixed on the accused man’s 
countenance, although he spoke to the boy. 

“This man, Mr. Seymour, sir,” panted Sammy, 
“that night up aloft — when was it? . . He looked 
around him in bewilderment. 

“Yes, that night up aloft . . . Stop where you 
are, Forbes, don’t move.” Seymour had seen the sailor 
draw back his lips from his teeth; he had seen the 
man’s muscles tense as if he were about to spring. 

“I’ll smash his head in, the young cub,” growled 
the sailor angrily. “Telling a pack of lies this fashion. 
I’ll — I’ll ” 

Fear had driven him beyond all caution. Now, 
careless of consequences, he leaped on Sammy, swing- 
ing the murderous hammer aloft. 

Mr. Seymour acted quickly. There was a loose 
belaying-pin in the rail ; he twitched it forth and flung 
it full in the man’s face. 

“Grapple him,” he said; and two men obeyed. 

“It’s a lie . . . he’s mad — mad ! ” foamed Forbes, 
struggling savagely. 

“Then, if it’s a lie, why do you act that way?” 
asked the second officer coldly. “Come aft, all of 
you ; we’ll look into this.” 

They forced the struggling Forbes aft to the break 
of the poop ; Sammy, seeing that matters were taking 
their own course, followed docilely. The lad’s memory 
had returned in full clearness; he remembered every 
detail of that long-past night when the cloud had 
closed down his senses. 

“Something very remarkable has occurred, sir,” 
said Seymour to the captain, who had just come on 


Sammy Longstaffe: Accuser 213 

deck from his afternoon nap. “I think it is best you 
should know at once.” 

“ Well, what is it ? ” 

Seymour was an extremely intelligent man, and 
he had been greatly impressed by what he had seen. 
He now took hold of Sammy Longstaffe’s shoulder 
and pushed him forward a little way. 

“ Longstaffe, who is that ? ” he asked, pointing to 
Forbes. 

“Forbes, sir.” 

“Quite right. Now, when did Forbes join this 
ship ? ” 

“The same day I did, sir — in Poolhaven.” 

“But you joined the ship in Hong Kong, didn’t 
you ? ” 

Sammy put his hand to his head in bewilderment. 

“Hong Kong?” he said. “Hong Kong, sir? 
Why, we’re bound there now. It was only last night 
that man tried to kill me, because I stopped him from 
murdering Mr. Brunton there.” 

Seymour looked at the captain significantly. 

“You’re thinking of nearly four months ago, Long- 
staffe. Have you forgotten about the hospital in Hong 
Kong, and about the pirates ? ” 

“Hong Kong — pirates!” Sammy’s face expressed 
completest bewilderment. 

“He’s pretending he doesn’t know anything about 
it; it’s a trick,” gasped Forbes. He had bitten 
his lip until the blood flowed, and now, with his 
white face and startled eyes, with the blood running 
down his chin, he looked anything but a pleasant 
object. 

“You’ll be heard in your turn,” said the captain. 
“Come on the poop, all of you. Better still, into the 


214 Sons of the Sea 

cabin, Mr. Seymour. Tell Raymond to keep the watch 
for you.” 

Into the cabin now there trooped as many of the 
deck watch as could escape the boatswain’s vigilance. 
Captain Branksome seated himself with a grave air — he 
was a judge of humanity, and it seemed to him that 
Forbes’s behaviour was somewhat remarkable for an 
innocent man. 

“Let’s have the story,” he said curtly. 

In as few words as possible Mr. Seymour narrated 
what he had seen, and called on the boatswain to 
corroborate. With many hitchings of the trousers the 
petty officer complied. 

“Very good. And you say that Forbes attempted 
to strike this youngster with a maul — after the lad 
had been dragged away ? ” 

“Yes, sir; a savage attack, I calls it.” 

“So. Now, Longstaffe, what have you got to 
say for yourself ? What do you mean by an un- 
provoked attack on this man ? ” 

“He tried to murder me, sir,” said Sammy simply. 
“Up aloft there, in the mizen-top. I stopped him 
from killing Mr. Brunton, and he tried to kill me. 
I think he hit me with the block; it was all dark 
after that.” 

“Do you know anything about this, Brunton?” 

Syd worked hard to remember, and a gleam of 
light shot through his brain. 

“I have a sort of feeling, sir, that something nearly 
hit me that night as I was climbing over the top. 
But I thought it was something loose aloft.” 

“And that wasn’t all,” broke in Sammy, speaking 
hurriedly. “Forbes, there, he dropped his marline 
spike from aloft, when Mr. Brunton was below — the 


Sammy Longstaffe: Accuser 215 

bosun remembers that. And there was another thing 
— that time when Mr. Brunton dropped overboard off 
the main yard. He said the gasket broke, but I found 
the end of it, and it was cut.” 

His announcement created consternation amongst 
those who heard. 

‘‘These are very terrible accusations to make, Long- 
staffe,” said the captain gravely. “Do you know any 
reason why this man should try to murder you, 
Brunton ? ” 

“No, sir,” was Syd’s prompt reply. 

“It’s all a pack of lies — a trumped-up tale,” shouted 
Forbes. 

“Then why did you attempt to strike the boy with 
the maul?” asked the captain. “If you had been 
innocent you would have laughed at the matter. As 
it is, I’m growing suspicious.” 

And then Forbes did a very strange thing. The 
cabin table was laid for supper; at its head was that 
very carving knife with which Sammy Longstaffe had 
attacked the pirates. Forbes suddenly broke away from 
the men who stood beside him, and snatched the 
carving knife up. 

“I’ll kill the first man who touches me,” he cried, 
and made a slash at the captain’s face. 

“No, you won’t,” quoth the boatswain stolidly, and 
brought his tremendous fist down beneath the sailor’s 
ear with astonishing force. 

Forbes dropped like a pole-axed ox, and lay quiver- 
ing on the deck. 

“Call the carpenter and have that man put in 
irons,” said Captain Branksome, rising and wiping the 
blood from his face. The carving knife had slashed 
him, but not very deeply. “Stow him away in the 


2l6 


Sons of the Sea 

forepeak; we’ll give him something to cool his blood. 
An innocent man doesn’t behave in that fashion.” 

The carpenter was summoned, and appeared with 
a stout pair of handcuffs. Securely manacled, Forbes 
was picked up and carried forward along a deck that 
was crowded with curious men and boys. 

“You will tell me everything there is to tell now,” 
said Captain Branksome. “I intend to get at the 
bottom of this.” 

He put several searching questions to Sammy, 
which the lad was unable to answer, as they concerned 
the events that had happened since he had been ren- 
dered insensible by Forbes’s attack. But other ques- 
tions, dealing with the ship prior to that date, the lad 
answered clearly and intelligently. 

“It’s turning out as the surgeon said,” remarked 
Mr. Seymour. “He’s remembered everything he’d 
forgotten, and forgotten everything he learnt after- 
wards.” 

Sammy told his story, leaving out no single detail, 
and his manner of telling the tale made a decided 
impression on his hearers. The lad was so concise 
and matter of fact that even had the officers of the 
Cape Horn been inclined to think the whole matter 
was the fruit of invention, they must have come to 
the conclusion that there was a germ of truth at the 
bottom of it all. But Forbes’s conduct after the 
accusation was enough to condemn him in the eyes 
of all right-thinking men. 

“It’s a pity the man ever came back again in 
Hong Kong,” said Captain Branksome, when the 
hearing was over. “But now we’ve got him we’ll have 
to keep hold of him; we can’t do more than hold 
him a prisoner until we reach port. It seems to me, 


Sammy Longstaffe: Accuser 217 

Brunton, as though you’d been living on the edge of 
a volcano all these months, and I, for one, congratulate 
you on your escape.” 

“I wonder why Forbes was so keen to do away 
with the youngster,” said Mr. Seymour, pursing his 
lips thoughtfully. “Do you know any reason why 
he should have made such a dead-set against you, 
Brunton ? ” 

“No, sir,” said Syd promptly. “But now that 
Sammy’s said what he has done I can see a lot of 
light. It was Forbes who was up aloft with me that 
time I fell overboard ; he told me to put all my weight 
on the gasket that broke.” 

“It was cut,” interpolated Sammy firmly. “It 
didn’t break.” 

“And when that marline spike fell from aloft it 
w r as Forbes who dropped it,” continued Syd. He said 
nothing, however, concerning his escape in the opium 
den; that was a matter entirely between himself and 
Snowball; besides, he had no reason to couple that 
adventure with the arrested sailor. 

“One thing, Forbes won’t trouble you again,” 
said Captain Branksome. “And all’s well that ends 
well.” 

Syd and Roy had much to discuss when they came 
together again. 

“I can’t understand why Forbes laid for me in 
that way,” said Syd thoughtfully. “I’ve never done 
him any harm. ’Tisn’t natural, somehow.” 

“You mark my words, my son,” said Roy, “there’s 
something at the bottom of this; but as I’m not a 
Sherlock Holmes I’m not going to break my heart 
trying to find out. And Forbes won’t ever tell.” 

“Not likely. I thought there weren’t any adven- 


2l8 


Sons of the Sea 

tures at sea, but it looks as though I’d got pretty 
averagely mixed up with a lot more than I wanted.” 

There for a time the matter ended. Syd’s be- 
wilderment returned occasionally; rack his brains as 
he might he could not understand why Forbes should 
have been guilty of those determined attempts to 
murder him; but as there was no recurrence of the 
menace he soon forgot the greater part of it all. 

Public interest now centred in the main in Sammy 
Longstaffe. The change in that youngster was curious 
to a degree. He remembered everything that had 
occurred up to the moment when he was struck down 
in the mizen-top; but of what succeeded he was in 
complete ignorance. And the lad could not reconcile 
himself to the fact that a period of four months or so 
had been sliced completely out of his life; he was 
always talking about what he intended to do when the 
ship reached Hong Kong. 

But a light was to be shed on Syd’s darkness in 
a somewhat sensational fashion. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Forbes Leaves His Prison 

John Forbes, A.B., rolled restlessly to and fro in 
his dark and noisome prison, and cursed his fate in 
fluent accents. He was not in the least sorry for what 
he had done; the man was entirely heartless; but he 
was very much afraid of what might follow when his 
crime was examined in a court of law. His previous 
escapade would be brought up against him, and that 
fact, coupled with his several attempts to destroy 
Syd, would necessarily ensure a lengthy term of 
imprisonment. 

“Reckon I’d better do my best to get out o’ this,” 
he cogitated, wrenching at the manacles on his wrists. 
But they resisted his efforts firmly, he was held a 
secure prisoner, and Captain Branksome had no inten- 
tion of taking any risks. Forbes struggled viciously 
until he grew weary, and then he sank into a restless 
sleep, during which he dreamed that he was standing 
before a tribunal of justice, the judge was just placing 
the small black square of cloth on his wig, and was 
asking if the prisoner had anything to say before 
sentence of death was passed upon him. Forbes tried 
to speak, tried to make a plea, but words refused to 
come. A shaft of sunlight struck across the judge’s 
face brightly 


219 


220 


Sons of the Sea 

He opened his eyes, to find that his prison was illu- 
minated by such a gleam of radiance. 

“Grub oh ! ” sang out someone from above, and the 
prisoner collected his scattered senses with an effort. 
Someone clambered down the ladder, bearing a can of 
water and a few biscuits. Forbes saw that his jailer 
was one Lorton, a sailor who had made the full voyage. 

“Call that grub?” he asked in a disgusted voice. 
“ ’Tisn’t fit for pigs.” 

“It is a bit rough,” said Lorton. “Look here, I 
don’t mind fetching a bit o’ pork from the forecastle, 
if that’ll please ye. You stood me more than one drink 
back there in Hong Kong.” 

“Never mind the pork,” said Forbes. “Look here, 
Lorton, I s’pose it’s no use asking you to knock off 
these darbies ? ” He held up his manacled wrists ; 
Lorton shook his head. 

“Couldn’t do it, me son; the keys are under the 
skipper’s piller, he ain’t taking no risks. An’ if an 
orficer comes along an’ finds me yarning here it’s a 
slating for me.” 

“ Get us a bit of baccy and a pipe, yes, and a match 
or two, Lorton,” said Forbes persuasively. “It’s un- 
common lonely an’ black down here.” 

“Well, seeing as you can’t do much harm so, I might 
try; after all, you an’ me hasn’t got no quarrel.” 

He climbed the ladder and replaced the stout hatch ; 
in a little while he returned with a paper full of cut 
tobacco, a new clay pipe, and a box of matches. These 
he thrust into Forbes’ manacled hands and quickly re- 
turned to the deck. The prisoner heard the hatch thud 
into place, he heard the batten clatter across, and the 
lock fixed. There was no escape for him ; even if he 
could win to the freedom of the deck above it would 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 221 

avail him nothing. At the best he could but leap over- 
board, and shackled as he was could never hope to swim 
to safety. Besides, those waters would be full of sharks. 
But he had tobacco, that was something, and so, work- 
ing with some difficulty, he managed to fill the pipe 
and light it. The taste of tobacco was good, even 
though it was impossible to see the smoke in the dark- 
ness ; he emptied the pipe and grunted his satisfaction ; 
he ate a couple of biscuits and emptied the tin of water. 
Then he refilled his pipe and smoked again. 

Nicotine helped his thoughts. He had no intention 
of remaining a prisoner if he could help it ; sometime 
or other an opportunity of escape must arise. If such 
an opportunity did come it must be brought — he puzzled 
his brains for a plan. 

“ If the blasted ship took fire,” he ruminated between 
puffs, “they’d have to shift me somehow. Down here 
there’s no chance, no one comes to bear a hand.” Con- 
sumed with this brilliant thought he struck a match and 
surveyed his surroundings thoughtfully. The forepeak 
was a commodious apartment, triangular, floored with 
stout planking, roofed by the deck. There was a large 
assortment of stores below here : paint, rope and oakum, 
to say nothing of a miscellaneous collection of 
“notions,” as our Yankee cousins would call them, in 
the shape of holystones, brooms and buckets. At the 
after end of the peak was a wooden bulkhead, that, 
Forbes cogitated, would divide the storeroom from the 
forehold. If a man reached that wide space it was 
more than probable that he would find some means of 
securing freedom. But meanwhile there were the holy- 
stones — he picked one up and settled it between his 
knees, and rubbed the connecting link of the handcuffs 
on its edge. To and fro he ground the steel, to and 


222 


Sons of the Sea 

fro, until his arms were weary. Then he struck another 
match. The steel was shining, the rubbing had made a 
distinct impression. 

“Once get them free and I’ll hold up the whole 
blooming ship,” he muttered. To his slightly dis- 
ordered brain it seemed the easiest possible thing to do. 
But in the meantime he must rest a little while. He 
dragged loose oakum from one of the bales and 
fashioned a sort of couch against the after bulkhead; 
here he lay smoking peacefully and turning over fresh 
plans. 

Presently he dragged himself to where the holystones 
were, selected a fresh one, and recommenced his rub- 
bing. He did not know that a spark had fallen from 
his pipe amongst the oakum ; he did not know that the 
spark had not died, but had communicated with some 
shreds of the inflammable stuff. He was growing tired, 
he said, and it was high time he had a little sleep. 

Syd Brunton walked the lee side of the poop alertly, 
his hair fanned by the pleasant fresh breeze that blew 
from a point forward of the beam. He had ceased to 
trouble about the adventures of the past, he was look- 
ing forward to the stormy passage around Cape Horn. 
He had found a means of repairing his outfit in Hong 
Kong; he had acquired a new pair of sea boots; the 
stormy months that were coming held no terrors for 
him. 

“Who’s that? ” Mr. Seymour walked to leeward. 

“Brunton, sir.” Syd stopped short, for it had be- 
come the second officer’s custom lately to engage the 
cadet on watch in conversation fairly often, and Syd 
had pleasant recollections of many yarns that had been 
spun to the accompaniment of the rustling wind and the 
plashing, joyous seas. 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 223 

“ Run for’ard, Brunton, and give that look-out man 
a reminder that he’s expected to keep awake. I’ll swear 
he’s asleep, he hasn’t moved for half an hour.” 

Syd went down the poop ladder and along the main 
deck. It was quite warm and genial, there was no 
touch of chill in the air. Here and there were shrouded 
forms, crouched away in the shelter of the houses and 
hatches. Roy was snoring cheerfully in the bight of 
the main-brace, which was coiled up on its pin. 

As the lad set his foot on the lower step of the fore- 
castle ladder he sniffed sharply. 

“Smells like smoke,” he said. “It is smoke ! ” He 
hesitated for a moment and then darted beneath the fore- 
castle head. The smell of smoke grew more pro- 
nounced. More than that, he could feel that smoke was 
about him, though on account of the darkness he could 
see nothing. He obeyed an instinct that came to him 
and raced aft at the top of his speed. 

“I think the ship’s on fire, sir, for’ard,” he said to 
the second officer in a low voice, for Syd was no scare- 
monger. 

“Eh — what’s that? Fire? Sure you’re not dream- 
ing, youngster?” 

“No, sir, I’m quite sure I’m not.” Syd proceeded 
to tell of what he had smelt. 

“That sounds alarming; come along, we’ll see 
what’s wrong. Move quietly, because we don’t want a 
panic in any case.” 

Sure enough belching smoke greeted them as they 
entered under the forecastle head. Mr. Seymour struck 
a match, and they saw the filmy clouds pouring from 
the interstices in the forepeak hatch. 

“It’s a fire right enough,” said Seymour; “down 
the forepeak, too, where the inflammable stores are ! ” 


224 


Sons of the Sea 

Neither of them thought for the moment of the prisoner 
below ; he had vanished from their minds. 

“ Rouse out the watch — tell them to rig the hose and 
the pump,” said Seymour. “Away aft to the captain’s 
room first, and ask him for the keys of the forepeak — 
look alive ! ” Syd dashed away, and was back in a 
breath with the keys. They unlocked the hatch and 
lifted it — to be greeted by a terrible blast of foul-smelling 
smoke. 

And Syd, peering down into the blinding atmo- 
sphere, heard a desperate knocking from below. 

“Forbes!” he gasped, starting back. “Forbes is 
down there ! ” 

“Sure enough — by Jove! I’d forgotten him,” said 
Seymour. “Look smart with that hose, men, Forbes 
will be suffocated if you don’t hurry.” 

But valuable time was necessarily lost; the pump 
was dry, and buckets of water had to be drawn before it 
would throw its jet. Syd and Roy looked at each other 
through the pouring smoke — lanterns had been brought. 
Perhaps the same thought came to both their minds. 

“He’ll die if he’s left down there much longer,” said 
Syd. Roy nodded, and in a momentary lull they could 
hear the crackling of flames. Syd gulped savagely ; he 
owed nothing to the would-be murderer, but — there was 
a human being in peril of his life. None of the men 
had made any attempt to go below; perhaps the pour- 
ing smoke had frightened them. Syd gulped again. 

“He tried to kill me,” he said. “I suppose it’s only 
right if he dies down there.” 

“I suppose it is. But ” Syd refused to obey the 

demand of his heart, which told him to leave the man 
to die. The lad was agile, a good swimmer and diver, 
he was used to holding his breath for considerable 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 225 

periods. And he was remembering stories he had 
read, stories he had heard. He whipped out his 
handkerchief, which was none too clean, dipped it 
into a pool of water which lay close to the hatch, and 
wrung it out. 

“ What’s the game ? ” demanded Roy. 

“I’m going to have a shot for him — let’s get a rope,’’ 
said Syd. 

“Tail on to the pump here, Brunton — get that hose 
rigged, men. One of you nip down and see if you can 
find Forbes.” 

Two or three of the men drew near the belching 
hatch, but they moved back again. They did not mind 
facing the ordinary perils of the sea, but fire was a 
different matter. 

And then, without further hesitation, Syd Brunton 
did what was perhaps the bravest action of his life. 
The man below had seriously wronged him, he owed 
him nothing, but he was a fellow seaman near his 
death. Syd wound the saturated handkerchief about 
his face, snatched the rope that Roy had brought and 
lowered it down the hatch. 

“I’m going to have a shot for him,” he said, his 
voice muffled by the wet handkerchief, and before Mr. 
Seymour could stop him he had disappeared from the 
view of those on deck. 

The smoke caught at his throat and threatened to 
choke him ; it was insufferably hot. Half-way down he 
wished most earnestly that he had not come; but now, 
having come so far, it was useless to turn back. He 
could see flames leaping through the smoke; but the 
knocking was over, Forbes was lying unconscious 
amongst the overpowering fumes. 

Syd reached the deck below and stood there swaying 

p 


226 


Sons of the Sea 

for a while, indeterminate. His every instinct was to 
return ; the heat was so terrific that he felt another 
moment would see him falling down in a swoon. Mr. 
Seymour hailed him from above, but the lad paid no 
attention to the words — he thought he saw something 
in a corner of the peak that might be Forbes. If he 
could only hold out for another five seconds until he 
reached him ! 

He staggered forward a little way, and felt scorch- 
ing pains assail his legs. In his hand he still held the 
rope that had been lowered down the hatch. 

“Brunton, come up, you young fool, come on 
deck ! ” 

Syd breathed with difficulty and paid no attention 
to the order. The smoke was growing denser, the 
flames were beginning to roar as though in glee at 
their triumph. In another moment he would faint and 
fall into the vortex of the fire ; but meanwhile a strange 
resentment was growing up in him against the devour- 
ing element. It was exactly as it had been when he 
went aloft to handle the royal ; it had become a personal 
matter between him and the fire. He no longer thought 
of Forbes as Forbes; it was simply that a man was 
dying here unless help could reach him in time. Syd 
stumbled forward another pace and fell on his face ; his 
hands smarted vilely, but he contrived to recover him- 
self, and a moment afterwards he was kneeling beside 
a prostrate form. 

Forbes was in sorry case, the fire had taken hold of 
his clothing, he was badly burnt. It was evident that 
he had staggered away from the actual fire-zone, how- 
ever, before being overcome by the fumes, otherwise 
he must have been dead long before. Syd made a call 
on his fleeting strength and got the end of the rope he 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 227 

carried round the prostrate form. Then he jerked the 
line sharply. 

That was all he remembered; the smoke was 
growing thicker and thicker, the heat still more 
intense. He could not breathe; he could not move; 
the flames were leaping towards him hungrily — in 
a little while they would lay hold of him, and then — - 
then 

“Brunton ! ” came a sharp call in his ears. He tried 
to reply, but the smoke had destroyed his voice. He 
lurched down to the deck and lay there as still as a 
log, and all about him the flames boomed on. 

It was water splashing in his face that aroused him. 
He opened his eyes, to find nothing but darkness every- 
where; he could hear the clatter and thud of the head- 
pump, the swish-swish of water. 

“Feel better?” asked Roy commiseratingly. “I 
thought you were dead.” 

“I’m all right — ow ! ” He had tried to move, and 
agonising pains shot through him. “What’s hap- 
pened ? ” 

“You went down the forepeak,” began Roy, and 
slowly recollection returned to Syd’s mind. 

“Forbes?” he muttered feebly. 

“He’s all right; you got him out alive, just. Then 
Mr. Seymour went down and fetched you up, and they 
say the fire’ll be out in another few minutes.” Syd 
closed his eyes and lay back in a pool of water that was 
grateful to his burnt skin. Roy communicated the fact 
of his recovery to Seymour, who, blackened to the eyes, 
was directing operations at the peak. The ship had 
been got before the wind, to prevent the flames from 
spreading aft ; all hands were engaged in quenching the 
fire ; holes had been cut in the deck above the seat of the 


228 Sons of the Sea 

conflagration, and buckets were passing smartly from 
hand to hand. 

“Break off, a couple of you, and help Brunton aft,” 
said Mr. Seymour. “Put him in the cabin.” Two men 
literally carried Syd aft; and as they reached the poop 
they were challenged by the mate, who stood there in 
pyjamas as he had turned out. 

“ What have you men got there ? ” 

“One of the boys, sir — Brunton, he got hurt for’ard.” 

“Take him into the saloon.” Syd was helped 
within, and there found the captain ministering to the 
hurts of Forbes, the author of all the mischief. Captain 
Branksome muttered to himself as he worked, his ex- 
perience told him that such burns must inevitably be 
fatal. The man was frightfully injured. 

But it was necessary that he should do his best. 
Captain Branksome was a good sailor and a good 
master; he was quite content to leave the handling of 
the fire in the capable hands of his officers; meanwhile 
here was work to his hand which he could do. And 
so he doctored Forbes with all his skill, knowing the 
while that it was hopeless. 

Syd was laid down on a settee in obedience to the 
captain’s orders, and his bearers were dispatched for- 
ward to assist in the fire-quenching. Half an hour later 
Syd, swathed in oil and wadding, was lying in a bunk 
in a spare room of the cabin with the captain’s words of 
praise ringing in his ears. He was very tired, he felt 
unaccountably weak, but beneath it all was a curious 
sense of satisfaction. 

Whilst sleep overcame him the crew of the Cape 
Horn worked hard at the forepeak, and on the edge of 
dawn contrived to extinguish the flames. But for Syd’s 
timely discovery the probability was that the ship must 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 229 

have been destroyed, for if the flames had secured a 
firmer hold, if they had burnt through the after bulk- 
head of the peak, and communicated with the tons of 
inflammable cargo in the forehold, the Cape Horn 
would have become a veritable sea of fire in an hour. 
But as it was no great amount of damage was done, the 
fire was centralised and kept in check; and the dawn 
broke to see smoke-blackened men searching below to 
find any possible spark that might have been over- 
looked. 

The danger was over, the ship was saved, but — a 
human soul was poising its wings for flight. 

“Brunton — Brunton ! ” It was Mr. Seymour, still 
black and scorched, with his clothes singed into many 
holes. Syd stirred slightly and opened his eyes, aware 
that his face was dry and smarting. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Can you move ? Can you come out of this ? Here, 
I’ll give you a hand, but if the pain’s too great don’t 
forget to yell. Forbes is asking for you.” 

Syd made an effort, and with the assistance of the 
officer contrived to reach the floor. It cost him a good 
deal of pain, and his brain was in a state of complete 
bewilderment, but something in Seymour’s voice told 
that the call was urgent. 

“Forbes? ” said the lad wonderingly. 

“Yes, the man you got out of the peak — plucky 
thing, my lad, that. He’s dying fast — shockingly 
burnt. Lean on me, my son.” 

Syd half-walked, was half-carried to the saloon, 
where Forbes still lay, muffled in bandages. They had 
not thought it worth while to move him, considering 
that his end was so near. His face was almost unre- 
cognisable; his hands were mere masses of raw flesh. 


230 


Sons of the Sea 

Captain Branksome was seated beside him, intently 
watching his eyes, the only uninjured portion of his 
face. 

“Here’s Brunton, Forbes. Have you anything to 
say to him ? ” 

“Yes, sir.’’ It came in a faint whisper that could 
hardly be heard, and in obedience to a gesture Syd con- 
trived to move a little nearer. 

“They told me— you— got— me out,” gasped Forbes. 
“Risked your own life. And — and I tried to kill you — 
half a dozen times. That time in Hong Kong — it was 
me put the Chink up to it.” 

Syd looked appealingly at the captain; the man’s 
agony was so terrible that it wellnigh made the lad 
sick. 

“Humour him, lad, he’s not long for this world,” 
said the skipper. 

“ It — was — true, what Longstaffe said,” feebly moaned 
Forbes. “I laid for you — but you tried to save me. 
I’m grateful — first time in my life. They tell me I’m 
dying. Do you know why I tried to kill you ? ” 

“No; but I’ve often wondered,” said Syd. Instinc- 
tively those others about that deathbed drew nearer. 

“Your guardian, Mr. Carey, he put me up to it,” 
gasped Forbes. “Said he’d pay me good money if you 
didn’t ever come back alive.” And as he spoke a great 
change showed on his ruined face, his eyes started from 
his head, he lifted himself up and cried hoarsely. Then 
he collapsed and lay back. 

“Dead, yes, quite dead,” said the captain. “Sey- 
mour, help Brunton back to his bunk — he’s overcome. 
And remember, you others, what this man said, it might 
be useful. It throws a light on what was otherwise 
dark to me.” 


Forbes Leaves His Prison 231 

Syd tried to think over the full significance of what 
he had heard when he reached his bunk again. But 
his brain was too full of raging emotions for clear 
thought to come; and beyond the fact that Forbes was 
dead he hardly realised what had happened. 


CHAPTER XVII 
A Derelict 

“I have drawn up a statement of what the dead man 
confessed, Brunton,” said Captain Branksome. “And 
those who heard the confession have signed it as wit- 
nesses. You will please do the same.” 

It was a whole ten days since the fire, and Syd’s 
hurts were almost healed. He had been knocked off 
work, however, and given invalid’s treatment, a thing 
which in no wise appealed to him, for he wanted badly 
to be up and doing. But orders were orders and as 
such were to be obeyed. 

“I think it might be made very interesting for your 
guardian, when he is confronted with this confession,” 
said Branksome, watching Syd as he read the document 
carefully. “Have you any reason to suspect him?” 
Syd shook his head. 

“I don’t mind telling you now that I didn’t exactly 
fall in love with Mr. Carey when I saw him,” said the 
captain. “He struck me as being — well, a bit of a 
sneak, for one thing.” 

“I remember, sir, that he wouldn’t let me go to sea 
for a long time, and then, all of a sudden, he changed 
his mind, and couldn’t get me away fast enough.” 

“Do you happen to know, Brunton, if your guardian 
had any money of yours in trust ? ” 

“I don’t know, sir — and yet, I think he had.” 

232 


2 33 


A Derelict 

“Ah, that might account for it. Funny what money 
will tempt men into doing. Still, we don’t know the 
truth; and I should judge that he will be punished 
enough by seeing you return. Only — mark this well, 
Brunton — I strongly advise you to demand of your 
guardian a full account of his guardianship, and, by 
Jove ! I’ve a good mind to be with you when you 
do it.” 

However, Syd had not much place in his mind for 
vengeful thoughts; he was by now the idol of the ship, 
for the story of his plucky action had gone the round of 
all the messes. And, besides, he was recovering from 
his injuries so quickly that there seemed no reason why 
he should not begin work at once; and next day back 
to work he went. Forbes had been buried on the day 
after he died ; the fire had been completely extinguished, 
and now it appeared as though the Cape Horn might 
proceed on her voyage in peace. 

And this she did for a matter of another week. 
Nothing of interest happened; she encountered occa- 
sional calms, when the 'boys indulged to their hearts’ 
content in shark-fishing; she was attacked twice by 
sudden squalls, but no damage was done. And then 
there came a day, a crisp, sparkling day, that sent the 
blood coursing joyously through one’s veins ; that seemed 
pregnant with life and happiness. The sea was of that 
marvellous blue that is only seen in the Pacific, and 
even then but seldom; there was not a single cloud in 
the sky. Work went forward briskly, and it fell to Syd 
and Roy to be sent aloft up the mizen to overhaul some 
chafing gear there. They worked on cheerily, yarn- 
ing without cessation as they worked, exchanging 
opinions without end, and arriving at the unanimous 
conclusion that the sea was a fine life. Roy stood up 


234 


Sons of the Sea 

on the topsail yard and stretched himself, he had been 
squatting for an hour in a somewhat cramped position. 
Then, as every true sailor does, he swept the horizon 
with his glance. 

“Sail ho! ” he shouted down to the shining poop, 
where Mr. Seymour leaned over the rail. He drew 
Syd’s attention to what he had seen : something that 
might have been a ship in the south-east quarter. The 
Cape Horn at this time was sailing at a rate of perhaps 
five knots per hour, gliding along as smoothly as a fairy 
ship across a fairy sea. Mr. Seymour took down the 
ship’s telescope from its bracket inside the companion- 
way and studied the sail intently. 

“I’m going to bag Raymond’s glass and see what it 
is for myself,” said Roy, making to descend. He was 
back inside a minute with the senior cadet’s powerful 
binoculars, which he focused on the object. Mr. Sey- 
mour, with the telescope slung behind him, clambered 
up to join them. 

“She hasn’t got any sails, and there’s no smoke,” 
pronounced Roy, after a long contemplation. 

“I make her out to be a derelict,” said the second 
officer, working away with the glass. “Either she’s 
been abandoned or else — one thing’s sure, she is float- 
ing very low in the water.” 

A derelict ! The suggestion caused the two boys to 
thrill joyfully. Then their enthusiasm received a check. 
It was hardly likely they would be permitted a clearer 
view of the strange craft — the Cape Horn would most 
certainly not be stopped to permit of select parties pay- 
ing visits of inquiry. 

“Deserted; not a sign of life about her,” said Sey- 
mour. “Probably derelict for years, we can’t tell.” 

He went below to the deck after a little while, and 


235 


A Derelict 

the boys resumed their labours, though with many a 
glance at the stranger. An hour went by and they 
could see the craft now without the aid of glasses, the 
wind was drawing ahead somewhat and growing 
lighter, and the Cape Horn was heading almost directly 
towards the ship. 

“There’s going to be a calm,” said Syd, looking at 
the courses, which occasionally flapped thunderously. 

“Well, what if there is?” demanded Roy. And 
suddenly the great idea seized hold of Syd Brunton. 

“Tell you what, if it does fall calm, dead-calm, I 
mean, what’s to stop us asking the skipper for per- 
mission to go off and investigate ? ” 

“He’ll never let us go, it would mean calling away 
a boat’s crew, and that would stop the work.” 

“No harm in asking, anyhow. I’m game to do it, 
if you funk.” 

Syd was only human, he knew that he stood uncom- 
monly well in Captain Branksome’s good graces, owing 
to his conduct at the fire; and it seemed to him that 
his request might stand a fair chance of winning a com- 
forting answer. The fact that the wind was certainly 
lessening, as evidenced by the frequent thud of the 
heavier sails against the masts, was so much in his 
favour. 

When eight bells sounded for noon the Cape Horn 
was lying motionless on the sea, and less than two miles 
away was the derelict, every detail of her plainly to 
be seen through Raymond’s glasses. Syd and Roy 
descended from the rigging and stepped smartly for- 
ward to where Captain Branksome was reading the 
vernier of his sextant. As smartly they saluted and 
then stood waiting. 

“‘Well, boys, what is it?” 


236 


Sons of the Sea 

“May we go off and have a look at that derelict, 
sir ? ” asked Syd bravely. 

“Rubbish, boys, nonsense! Haven’t you had ad- 
ventures enough without trying to find fresh ones ? Mr. 
Barker, I make it 67° 30' 30".” The boys stood where 
they were. 

“I meant, if the calm held, sir,’’ said Syd stubbornly. 

“Oh, go away; the calm won’t hold; at least, I hope 
it won’t. Besides, you boys have something else to do 
than go visiting derelicts.’’ 

“It’s our afternoon watch below, sir,” said Syd. 
And for some reason or other Captain Branksome 
laughed heartily. Perhaps he remembered his own 
youth, when every strange sail was a source of con- 
templation ; perhaps it was the exhilarating day that 
was to blame. 

“Get your dinners and come to me afterwards, we’ll 
see then,” he said, and went below. Syd and Roy 
raced to the half-deck and fell madly on the viands 
served there. Raymond watched them for a while— 
he had been at the wheel when the derelict was sighted. 

“You chaps have a thundering cheek to snaffle my 
glasses,” he said. “What’s your hurry? Afraid the 
old timber drogher’ll vanish ? ” 

“Skipper says he’ll think about letting us go over 
to see her,” said Syd with his mouth full. “Coming?” 

“Not I. I’ve seen more than one derelict in my 
little life, and I’m not going to waste an afternoon 
watch below muling at a sixteen-foot oar. Got some- 
thing better to do with my time, my son.” 

When they had finished dinner they returned to 
the charge. Captain Branksome was still good- 
humoured, he hesitated for a while, and then the plead- 
ing earnestness of the boys’ faces settled his difficulty. 


237 


A Derelict 

“Go ahead, then,” he said. “I’ll send the third 
mate away with the boat and you can go with him.” 

So it was arranged. There seemed no reason why 
the visit should not be paid; the sea was now like glass, 
and if anyone noticed a trivial dark line to the south it 
was not taken as a serious matter. The Cape Horn lay 
listlessly on the shining sea, the derelict was a matter 
of a mile and a half away; for the two hulls were im- 
perceptibly drawing together, as ships do in calm. 

“No need to get out one of the quarter boats, take 
the dinghy,” said the captain. “You’ll want another 
couple of hands, Mr. Graham; and after you’ve over- 
hauled her, you’d better set her on fire; if she’ll burn, 
that is, though I doubt it.” 

Two other cadets expressed their wish to form 
members of the party, and at two bells in the afternoon 
watch the dinghy was swung out, several tins of kero- 
sene were placed in the stern sheets, together with 
oakum and various combustibles, and away the expedi- 
tion started. It was very hot, and the tubby dinghy 
was not an easy craft to pull. But it crawled over the 
intervening space and closed in with the derelict surely. 
Looking over their shoulders the boys could see the 
weed-hung fabric, low-lying and disconsolate, a very 
outcast of the seas, and there was that in the sight which 
aroused a feeling of pity in their hearts. She seemed 
so helpless and so forlorn ; although she had once, 
maybe, been a proud ship, rejoicing in her strength and 
beauty. But now the elements had had their will with 
her; her masts had gone by the board, her bulwarks 
gaped in a score of places, she moved very slowly, 
very sluggishly on the slight swell. Her lower parts 
were encrusted with long, tangled sea-growths; the sea 
had scorched the paint from her upper works; altogether 


2 38 Sons of the Sea 

she presented such a picture of misery as is seldom 
seen. 

“Rowed of all; look out, bow,” sang out the third 
officer, as the dinghy ran alongside. “You two 
in the bow stand by — up you come, Brunton and 
Halliday. You others shall look around when we’ve 
done.” 

It was not a really difficult matter to reach the 
derelict’s deck, she floated very low in the water, and 
there were rents in her planking that afforded foot- and 
handhold. Syd and Roy sprang light-footed aboard 
her. 

“Walk carefully, she’s as rotten as punk,” said the 
third officer, moving towards the after hatch. “Hallo, 
she’s half-full of water — not much chance of burning 
her.” 

But Syd and Roy paid no attention to his remarks; 
taking the order to board as permission to explore, they 
slipped on to the half-poop, found a gaping companion- 
way, and tumbled down the steps to the cabin. 

With an instinct to go as far as they could, they 
laid hold of a ring in the uncarpeted floor and pulled; 
nothing happening, they pulled again, and a trapdoor 
flew up in their faces with a thud. They fell asprawl, 
half-stunned for the moment, and so they did not hear 
the third mate’s cry of warning. 

“There might be something down here,” said Syd, 
recovering, and peering down into the noisome dark- 
ness. “Let’s explore a bit — what on earth’s that ? The 
derelict had given a queer sick lurch to one side, and the 
trapdoor had fallen with a thud. Both boys were on 
the wooden ladder beneath. 

“Brunton — Halliday! ” came the third mate’s voice 
again ; but the lads did not hear it. They were endea- 


A Derelict 23 9 

vouring to lift the fallen trap with their shoulders, and 
finding it a difficult task. 

Hearing a sharp cry from the boat the third mate 
ran to the side. Not a moment too soon, for a terrible 
squall was racing across towards the derelict. The sea 
was shut out in whirling fog; the Cape Horn had dis- 
appeared; the two boys in the boat were doing their 
utmost to hold on, but the dinghy was leaping 
frantically. 

“Hold on ! ” shouted the third mate, and sprang 
from the derelict’s deck into the boat. As he did so 
the bowman let go with his boathook, the squall drove 
down remorselessly, and the boat was whisked away 
into the blinding fog. 

It had all happened with remarkable suddenness. 
Aboard the Cape Horn it had been noticed that the 
squall, born out of that thin, dark line on the horizon, 
was making up swiftly, and at once a signal of recall 
was hoisted, which attracted the third mate’s attention, 
particularly so as Captain Branksome caused a socket 
signal to be fired as an addition. 

“I was a fool to let that boat get away,” said the 
captain, as the ship heeled viciously to the absolutely 
unexpected squall. “But we’ll fetch it back in double- 
quick time.” And at once the Cape Horn bore down 
towards the direction in which the boat had last been 
seen. 

But the fog shut down blindingly, and the rasp of 
wind-driven seas was deafening; time was lost in 
shortening down, and, afraid lest he should overshoot 
his mark, Captain Branksome gave orders for the Cape 
Horn to be hove to. 

“It’s only a passing squall,” he said impatiently, 
pacing the dripping deck with the sharp stride of a 


240 


Sons of the Sea 

man whose nerves are being tried to their utmost. 
“We’ll pick them up as soon as it clears.” But by the 
time darkness settled down on the waters there was no 
indication of the fog’s disappearance, if anything it was 
thicker than ever. Orders were given for the mechanical 
fog-horn to be sounded sharply; socket-signals were 
frequently fired to guide the missing boat back to the 
parent ship ; but midnight came and went and still there 
was no appearance. 

Anxiety ran riot aboard the Cape Horn; men forgot 
to seek their bunks. Five good hands were missing, 
and in the infrequent glimpses that were caught of the 
lashing seas outboard was little hope that the boat could 
have survived. 

Several times, during the hours of stress and dark- 
ness, the ship was put about and headed into the wind, 
in order to counteract the effects of lee-drift; but she 
was simply adrift in raw space for all evidence to the 
contrary; and Captain Branksome, together with 
his subordinate officers, reflected on the vast immensity 
of the Pacific as compared with an insignificant 
dinghy. 

Dawn broke wanly; the wind was still high, the 
fog still drooped closely over the surface of the sea. 
Hardly a soul had slept; men’s faces were wan and 
haggard; their eyes were blood-shot and red-rimmed 
through much gazing into the impenetrable fog. 

“I fear the worst,” said Captain Branksome in a 
tired voice. “Yes, I’m afraid — I’m afraid we’ll never 
see them again. Poor lads, some of the smartest we 
had, too — God help us all ! ” 

The hours dragged wearily by, bringing with them 
no slightest vestige of hope. At noon the fog lifted 
slightly, and at once the rails were crowded with eager, 


241 


A Derelict 

anxious faces, trained eyes did their utmost to pierce 
the fog. Nothing was to be seen. 

Two o’clock came, and the wind showed signs of in- 
creasing; at half-past two the mist was whipped away 
like a blanket, leaving the tossing waters fully exposed. 
But nothing was in sight — nothing but the creaming 
wave-tops and a stray albatross that swirled high in air 
like an evil spirit rejoicing in the price that had been 
paid. 

“Send hands to all the mast-heads! ” ordered Cap- 
tain Branksome. “Tell them to keep a close look-out 
and report if they see anything at all.” 

Mr. Seymour had already started for the mizen-truck. 
The second officer was wonderfully fond of his two 
young cadets, and he had no intention of losing them 
if any effort of his could conduce to their safety. He 
seated himself on the royal-yard and swept the horizon 
with his glasses. Suddenly he narrowed his gaze, and 
careless of the fact that the ship was throwing herself 
about considerably, stood erect, barely touching the tye. 
Then his voice rang down to the deck below, bringing 
to the watchers there the first gleam of hope. 

“Sighted something to leeward, sir — looks like a 
boat ! ” he roared. Immediately a dozen men started to 
run aloft, but first amongst them was Captain Brank- 
some himself. He gained the cross-trees and stayed 
there panting, for it was many years since he had been 
above the sheerpole. But his keen eyes made out the 
speck that Seymour had observed, and on that speck 
he focused his glass. 

“It might be anything,” he said — “anything. But 
there’s a chance of it being the boat.” He instructed 
Seymour to remain aloft to keep a steady bearing on 
the object, went back to the deck and gave orders for 

9 


242 


Sons of the Sea 

the ship’s yards to be squared. The Cape Horn ran 
away before the wind, and after half an hour the object 
could be seen distinctly from the deck. It was the 
missing boat, there could be no doubt of that — but as 
the ship drew closer no signals were made. 

“Back your mainyard; stand by your gig tackles,” 
cried Captain Branksome soon afterwards, and the Cape 
Horn came to a stand. The gig was lowered and 
manned; Mr. Seymour took the tiller, stout backs bent, 
willing arms pulled their hardest. So they came along- 
side the dinghy — to find within her three unconscious 
forms — the third officer and the two other cadets. They 
had lashed the oars together to form a rough sea anchor, 
and keeping the boat’s head to the seas by this means, 
had ridden out the storm in safety of a sort. But weari- 
ness and exhaustion, the exposure and the fear, had all 
worked upon them, and now they lay like dead men in 
the water that splashed about the bottom-boards. There 
had been neither food nor water in the boat; for a 
matter of twenty-four hours those three had been com- 
pelled to face death and to bale their hardest that the 
boat might float. And at last exhausted nature had 
given out. 

“No; they’re not dead, thank God ! ” said Seymour, 
stooping over one still form after another, and making 
skilful examination. “Their hearts are still beating.” 

They fixed the dinghy’s painter to the gig’s stern 
and pulled back with all their might to the ship ; the 
castaways were tenderly lifted aboard and hurried down 
below, where their needs were attended to. It was not 
until night fell that the third officer recovered con- 
sciousness. 

“Where are Brunton and Halliday? ” was the cap- 
tain’s first question. 


243 


A Derelict 

“They were left aboard the derelict, sir. I jumped 
into the boat as soon as the recall was sounded, and we 
got adrift. We couldn’t find her again in the fog.” 

“Well, and then what?” 

“The derelict was half-full of water, sir. I’m afraid 
she must have foundered in the squall.” 

“And I’m afraid of the same thing. Poor boys, 
poor boys ! ” 

Throughout the night the Cape Horn cruised up and 
down, but when morning came the sea was still blank, 
not a vestige of a sail showed. 

“There’s no chance of their being still afloat now,” 
said the captain, absolutely broken down by long hours 
of anxiety. “They’ve answered the final muster; two 
good boys. And how shall I tell the tale to Halliday’s 
mother ? ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

On Board the Derelict 

“What on earth did you hit me for?’’ demanded Syd 
Brunton indignantly, picking himself up from the damp 
deck on which he had fallen. 

“Didn’t hit you — couldn’t help myself. Some silly 
old thing dropped on me and knocked me down. I say, 
what’s that?” It was the dull crash of a wave against 
the hull close to their ears, as they clung to one another, 
consumed by a fear to which they could place no name, 
they felt the hull lurch sickeningly. 

“Here, let’s get out on deck,” said Syd, recovering 
himself. “This place stinks of death.” But it was not 
such an easy matter as they had expected it to be. 
They had lost their sense of direction, for the place was 
as black as the grave, and it required a vast amount of 
groping before they reached the ladder down which they 
had fallen. And when they had mounted it it was no 
easy matter to open the trap door; only one at a time 
could get his shoulders beneath it, and it was difficult 
to get sufficient purchase to lift it even when they had 
their shoulders underneath. 

“She’s moving,” said Syd at last, feeling the blood 
pound in his head. Sure enough the trap moved — the 
damp had swollen it considerably — and as suddenly as 
it had fallen it lifted. 

“Wonder where the others are?” said Roy, as they 

244 


On Board the Derelict 245 

scrambled into the cabin. “We’d better find out — 
listen to the wind, though ! ” The squall was yelling 
loudly, and they could hear, too, the rattle and patter 
of spray above their heads. 

“I don’t like this, I don’t like it a bit,” said Syd, 
making for the companion-way. “Why, look here, 
Roy, there’s fog; it’s blowing hard, too.” 

“We’ll have to stick aboard until it lifts, I expect; 
can’t go chasing about for the ship in this,” said Roy. 
“Let’s find the others.” 

But though they walked from aft forward and from 
forward aft, they could find no trace of their late com- 
panions. They peered into the fog that clung like wool 
to the bulwarks, but no sign of the dinghy was there, 
and at the end of an hour they faced each other in blank 
consternation. 

“They’ve left us,” said Syd. “What does it 
mean ? ” 

“Oh, they’ll come back,” said Roy with forced 
cheerfulness. “I expect they went back to the ship 
for something; they’ll come as soon as this puff is 
over.” 

“It’s blowing mighty hard,” chattered Syd, as a 
spray cut him sharply in the face. “And I don’t like 
this fog one little bit. But it’s no use grousing about 
it, I suppose.” 

They were boys and sailors, accustomed to make the 
best of everything. So, instead of lying down in 
apathy and fear, instead of succumbing in cowardly 
fashion to what seemed a very alarming position, they 
bestirred themselves to make their surroundings as com- 
fortable as possible. By tacit consent they left the ex- 
posed deck, which was by now indeed a place of peril, 
for the gaps in the bulwarks constituted a standing 


246 Sons of the Sea 

danger, and went back to the cabin they had quitted in 
haste. 

There was not much here to give them comfort. The 
vessel had apparently been a brig of sorts ; her tonnage 
could not have exceeded three hundred, and at the best 
she must have been but poorly equipped. Now, after 
heaven knew how much battling by the seas of the 
Pacific, she was disconsolate and forlorn to a vast 
degree. 

The cabin was a bare apartment some fifteen feet 
long, and perhaps the same wide. In the stained wood 
bulkhead on either side were doors, giving on small 
berths or cabins. One such berth on the starboard side, 
well forward, was undoubtedly the captain’s. In this 
room they found a few blankets and papers, together 
with some books and clothing — but things were scat- 
tered wildly about, as though the ship had been aban- 
doned in haste — as undoubtedly she had been. Screwed 
to the bulkhead of this room was a highly coloured 
representation of a brig in full sail, speeding magnifi- 
cently over a sea that was bluer than cobalt. Under- 
neath was the inscription: “Brig Atlantic . James 
Hartley, Master.” 

“If she looked like that,” remarked Syd, standing 
before this masterpiece, “she’s altered tremendously. 
But I expect this is what she was like before she became 
a derelict. Well, I say, Roy, have you realised yet 
that everything’s coming to pass as we wished it? 
Here we are, castaway in mid-ocean on a jolly old 
wreck ” 

“We’ll be picked up inside a couple of hours, as 
soon as this blow goes down,” said Roy. “Things like 
that don’t happen nowadays.” 

“But this has happened. I vote we make the best 


On Board the Derelict 247 

of it. I’ll toss you who’s to be skipper; we’re in charge 
of this ship now, my son.” 

“Oh, you can be skipper, if it comes to that. I don’t 
want the job, thank you. Tell you what, I’m getting 
hungry.” 

“You’re always wanting to eat, but I suppose it must 
have been that pull in the dinghy. Well, as skipper of 
this fine large craft, I pipe the crew to meals ; grub-oh ! ” 

“First find your grub,” said Roy, thinking, perhaps, 
of his Mrs. Beeton. And at once they instituted a 
search. They opened door after door, to find nothing 
but disordered bunks, with a few blankets and pieces of 
clothing scattered about — nothing more. Until Roy 
thrust his head and shoulders into a queer sort of 
cubby-hole beneath the companion-way, and exclaimed 
aloud : 

“Here’s grub, of a sort,” he said. “But it fairly 
niffs in here, too. I wish we had a light, it’s as dark 
as the mischief in here.” A moment afterwards he ex- 
claimed again, and a safety match spluttered. His 
groping hands had come in contact with a box of 
Swedish tandstickors. 

There was a lamp in the cabin, and it still contained 
a little oil ; they lit it and searched. The cubby-hole 
was evidently the brig’s pantry ; it contained a small keg 
of biscuits — stale and musty, in very truth — a few tins 
of preserved provisions, and very little else. 

“Must have been run on workhouse lines, this 
hooker,” remarked Roy, bringing his discoveries to 
light. “Me for the salmon — I’m dead-nuts on that.” 

They had their sheath-knives, of course, in their 
belts, and it was an easy matter to open the tin of 
salmon; it was perfectly sound and good, and when 
eaten in conjunction with this dainty the biscuits were 


248 Sons of the Sea 

far from being unpalatable. They feasted royally, 
washing down the repast with water from a none-too- 
clean filter that the cubby-hole had disgorged. 

“Feel a lot better now,” said Roy, licking his 
fingers, for in the absence of eating utensils they had 
been compelled to rely on nature’s equipment. 

“I say, this isn’t so dusty, is it?” 

“No, it’s all right. Worst of it is, we’ll be picked 
up in next to no time, and then ” 

They went on deck, and found that darkness was 
falling, while the fog still held thickly. 

“Feeling nervous? ” asked Syd, watching the woolly 
wreaths swirl about them. 

“Not particularly. This isn’t bad fun for a while, 
but to-morrow’ll see the end of it, of course.” They 
paced the deck for a little while, and sustained con- 
versation was out of the question. Finally, drenched 
by the sprays and chilled through, for they had set off 
from the Cape Horn in the lightest of clothing, they 
went below again, and seated themselves in the captain’s 
room, where was a cushioned settee. 

“I suppose we ought to set watches, and run the 
thing in proper style,” said Syd. “And we ought to 
keep a fog-horn blowing, too. Puzzle is, where to find 
the fog-horn. We’ll have a rummage in a while.” But 
it was comparatively comfortable in the cabin, especially 
so when they had doffed their wet clothing and re- 
clothed themselves from the rough assortment lying 
about. There was no great inducement to face the 
rigours of the elements on deck; and neither lad was 
overcome by fear. They imagined that the Cape Horn 
would be standing by somewhere in the fog, and the 
morning would bring them back to the old ship they 
had grown to love wondrously well. 


On Board the Derelict 249 

“ You’d better turn in and have a doss,” said Syd 
presently. “After all, we had the afternoon watch 
below and missed it. I’ll keep awake, and rouse you 
out presently.” 

They had no watches with them, and it was impossible 
to tell the time. Roy, who was a remarkably good 
hand at sleeping, obeyed instructions, tumbled into the 
skipper’s disordered bunk, wrapped himself in the 
blankets, and in five minutes was snoring peacefully. 
Syd began to make a closer search of the apartment, 
finding but little of interest. He went up the com- 
panion-way after a while — the squall was still blowing 
fiercely, and the fog was as impenetrable as ever. 

“Jolly sight snugger down here,” he thought, and 
returning to the cabin, he paced thoughtfully up and 
down. The Atlantic meanwhile slugged slowly to and 
fro on the wave crests ; and the strong wind, catching 
her higher side, drove her steadily to leeward. 

Syd sat down at the table after a while, and rested 
his head on his arms. He tried to keep awake, but it 
grew increasingly difficult. Twice he got to his feet, 
thinking he heard a cry in the night ; as often he settled 
back again, soon he too slept peacefully, and the dere- 
lict wandered at large upon the surface of the troubled 
sea. 

The average boy can sleep anywhere, and if that 
average boy be also a sailor it is wonderful in what 
awkward positions he can remain insensible. Syd 
awoke, conscious of stiffness, and looked about him. 
The cabin was in complete darkness, for the lamp had 
exhausted its stock of oil and burnt out. Syd merely 
stared around, heard the creakings of timbers and the 
splash of waters, the thudding of spray and the howl 
of the wind, came to the conclusion that he was aboard 


250 


Sons of the Sea 

the Cape Horn , and that the watch had not been called, 
and slumbered again. 

“Here, Syd — Syd ! ” He awoke to a wild shake on 
his shoulder, and saw Roy standing beside him, Roy 
looking ludicrously weird in the missing skipper’s 
clothes. The late captain of the Atlantic had evidently 
been a tall man and a broad, his coat would have served 
for both lads together. 

“What is it?” asked Syd, opening his eyes a little 
wider. 

“It’s morning, and — the fog’s still holding.” 

Syd whistled softly, and grew wide awake on the 
instant. He remembered the incidents of the past day 
and night — he was not aboard the Cape Horn at all, but 
cast away on a derelict in mid-Pacific. 

“Any sign of the ship?” he demanded. 

“No; can’t see anything — it’s like peasoup outside.” 

The boys looked at one another, and it is probable 
that at that moment fear came to them both. It had 
dawned upon them that this might not be merely a 
temporary holiday from work, but something far more 
serious. 

“Better go up on deck and look round,” said Syd, 
fighting down his momentary qualms. They climbed 
the companion-way and found matters but little 
changed. If anything the wind had lessened, but the 
fog still clung damply everywhere. 

“Can’t be helped.” Syd shrugged his shoulders 
resignedly. “And we used to dream of this sort of 
thing. We’ll make ourselves some sort of a meal, if 
you like.” 

It was an excellent idea, but as a hankering for hot 
coffee possessed them both they proceeded to institute 
a more thorough search for materials. They found 


On Board the Derelict 251 

coffee and tea in abundance in the cubby-hole, and when 
they applied themselves to the small pump on the fore- 
side of the poop bulkhead they found, too, fresh water, 
which was drinkable, although not so sparkling and 
clear as might have been desired. But when it came to 
a question of boiling the water they were confronted by 
a problem. There was no sort of a galley, but there 
were jagged splinters sticking up from the deck to show 
where the galley had been. 

“Must have carried it away, she’s had the mischief 
of a dusting,” was Syd’s verdict. “That would account 
for this big gap in the bulwarks; she’d ship a sanaka- 
towzer of a sea and carry away the galley through the 
rails. Wonder what became of her crew?” 

“I’d like some hot coffee uncommonly,” said Roy, 
casting about like a terrier. “Look here, let’s light a 
fire in the fo’c’sle; these bunk-boards are dry enough.” 

They went forward to the forecastle, which had evi- 
dently been damaged considerably by the gale, but was 
now quite dry. One portion of the floor close to the 
hawse-pipes was cemented, and on this foundation they 
kindled a fire, hacking the bunk-boards to pieces for fuel. 
They found an old meat-tin which did duty for a kettle, 
and in a little while sat down to a meal that was at least 
hot and varied. It consisted of tinned meat and biscuits, 
coffee, sweetened with brown sugar and entirely lack- 
ing in milk, and marmalade. They ate to repletion, 
because there was really nothing else to do. 

The meal being over they recommenced their ex- 
amination of the hull. There was not much to be seen, 
for when they thought of exploring the hold they 
found that it was so full of water as to preclude such 
a possibility. They wondered how the craft continued 
to float with such a vast quantity of water in her 


252 


Sons of the Sea 

inner economy; but the meal had restored their con- 
fidence and they felt no fear. 

So the morning wore away, and still the fog clung 
closely. They prepared another meal ; and as they con- 
sumed the last mouthfuls the mist blew away, to leave a 
sparkling sea. 

“Now we’ll see the old hooker,” said Roy cheer- 
fully, and they both stared slowly round the horizon. 
There was nothing to be seen. Even the dinghy had 
vanished; the derelict was alone on a white-crested 
wilderness. 

“We’re cast away,” said Syd at last, in a voice he 
tried in vain to keep steady. “This isn’t the joke we 
thought it was, Roy.” 

“We’ve got to make the best of it, though; it’s no 
use grousing. And they won’t leave us here for good, 
that’s certain. We might be a jolly sight worse off. 
Wonder what became of Mr. Graham and the others? 
They’d be worse off than we are in that little dinghy.” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Syd. “But now that 
we’re left here we’d better set about making ourselves 
as comfortable as we can.” It was sound advice. They 
knew now that their stay aboard the Atlantic might be 
considerably prolonged, and being adaptable youths — 
the sea teaches adaptability — they began to settle down. 
First, however, they raided the cabin until they found 
the flag-locker, and drawing forth a dirty red ensign, 
contrived to bend it to the stump of the mainmast, which 
was still standing. They bent it Union-down as a 
signal of distress. 

“We’ll be picked up in no time now,” said Syd 
cheerfully, regarding his handiwork. But night fell 
again, and they had not seen a single friendly sail, or, 
indeed, a sail of any description. It was just before 


On Board the Derelict 253 

nightfall that Syd looked thoughtfully over the side. It 
seemed to him that the hull floated lower in the water 
than it had done. He said nothing to Roy, however, 
not wishing to raise an alarm, but took advantage of 
his companion’s absence in the forecastle, where he was 
preparing a meal, to make an inspection of the after- 
hold. A dark and smooth surface of water rose almost 
to the ’tween-decks down below, and Syd could not help 
wondering how the ship had remained afloat so long. 
He did not know that a considerable portion of her 
cargo was of a very buoyant nature, although it was 
gradually losing its buoyancy. But he remembered 
several books he had read ; and after a long, slow glance 
around the horizon, slipped over the coamings of the 
after hatch and reached the ’tween-decks, which here 
were empty of cargo. There was a stanchion leading 
down into the main hold, and it was an easy matter 
to find a strand of rope lying in the ’tween decks. Syd 
knotted this strand about the stanchion just at the 
water’s edge. Later that night, before turning in, he 
made a stealthy visit, and found that the strand was 
completely covered with water — the element was rising 
slowly but surely. 


CHAPTER XIX 

Adrift 


“We'll have to do something,” said Syd. “The 
hooker’s sinking under our feet; I don’t think she can 
last another day. Haven’t you noticed the sick feel of 
her?” 

“Yes, but I didn’t want to say anything about it; 
thought it no use to start a scare.” 

“That’s what I thought myself. But we’ve to look 
facts in the face now.” 

They had been aboard the derelict now for five days, 
and during that time they had seen nothing. Fortun- 
ately the tropical storm had died away, although there 
was still a fair breeze blowing, and it was easy to see 
that the Atlantic was drifting slowly but surely away 
from her old-time place. A greasy streak reached 
away to windward, and with it was a slight line of 
bubbles. 

“Wouldn’t be any use trying to pump her out or 
get sail on her?” ventured Roy doubtfully. 

“Might as well try to pump out the Pacific. ’Sides, 
the pump’s broken ; I tried it ages ago. Expect that 
was why they abandoned her. We’re in the soup, 
with a vengeance. And as for rigging her — well, 
there’s nothing to work on. Even if she did carry 
spare spars they’re gone, and we can’t hoist sails 
on nothing.” 


254 


Adrift 255 

“And there aren’t any boats, either. They 
must have escaped in them. Wonder why she 
didn’t sink altogether, though; I mean, after they 
left her ? ” 

“It is a bit strange, Roy. But I’m inclined to 
think that she sprang a bad leak that scared them 
into abandoning her, and then something got jammed 
in the hole and stopped more water coming in. Then 
that last gale disturbed it afresh, and — well, there 
you are.” 

Syd was nearer the truth than many a grown man 
might have been in his guess. The fact was that the 
Atlantic had sprung herself badly during the terrible 
gale that had spelt her ruin, and the water had 
poured into her hull at such a rate that the wearied 
crew, small and anything but heroic, had gone 'aft 
and compelled the captain and officers to clear away 
the boats that were left. But after a while a mass of 
material had become firmly embedded in the Atlantic's 
side, the leak stopped as the plug swelled, and for 
some weeks she floated serenely on the surface. Now, 
however, her recent tossing had caused the plug to 
loosen, and hence the rapid increase in the amount of 
water she contained. 

“She won’t float for ever,” said Syd thoughtfully. 
“And we don’t seem to have the best of luck in 
sighting ships. We ought to be ready to leave her 
if things get worse.” 

“How? ” 

“There’s only one thing to be done: build a raft. 
We needn’t use it unless we’re forced, you know, but 
it will be there in case of accidents.” 

“And it will give us something to do, too.” 

Aboard the Cape Horn both boys had occasionally 


256 Sons of the Sea 

grumbled at the amount of work found for them; now 
leisure hung heavily on their hands. The advice was 
sound, and without more ado they began to put it 
into execution. It was not a particularly easy matter 
to find material for the construction of a raft, but 
by dint of hard work and careful searching they 
brought to light a sufficiency of timber to serve their 
purpose. 

Down in the lazarette, where they had been im- 
prisoned, what time the dinghy had blown away, were 
very many casks of salt beef and pork. Some of this 
food they had eaten, cooking it in the tin they used 
as a kettle, but a considerable quantity still remained. 
Now they proceeded to empty the stout casks, and, 
having emptied them, they carried them on deck with 
some difficulty ; they had found small blocks and a 
coil of light rope, and, being fairly experienced, they 
contrived to rig a small handy-billy tackle, which 
assisted them materially. They hauled up ten of these 
casks, which they intended to use as the base of their 
raft, and ranged them on the poop. There was any 
amount of loose rope lying about in tangles, and the 
lazarette also disgorged a coil of ratline stuff, which 
was a valuable find. Also they had found an axe 
and a hammer or two, to say nothing of a chest of 
minor tools and nails in a small berth under the fore- 
castle head ; and in the course of a dozen hours, 
working like beavers, they contrived to make the 
framework of a substantial raft. 

“Don’t think we’ve started this work any too soon,” 
said Syd, straightening his aching back as darkness 
drew down. “It strikes me that we’re in for some 
more weather — look at that sky.” 

There was a curious steely glare in the sunset, 


Adrift 257 

the sea brooded darkly, and from time to time the 
Atlantic gave a sickly lurch, although no perceptible 
sea was running. 

By eight o’clock, after they had supped, the wind 
was blowing freshly, with promise of more to come. 
Syd paid a visit to the hold, to examine his scale, 
and found the water was still rising. 

“We’d better go on with the raft,” he said, return- 
ing. “If this wind freshens much more the brig’ll 
go to the bottom.” 

They had found lamps of various kinds, and these 
they lit — in some respects the brig was well supplied 
with stores, though there was but small variety in 
her edible possessions — and by the aid of artificial 
light continued at the raft. They tore down the ship’s 
fittings ruthlessly to supply them with the materials 
they needed; they stripped off the stout hatch covers, 
and even hewed away lengths of the wooden bulwarks, 
which they lashed firmly to the casks. By midnight 
they had contrived something that at least would 
float, and as the wind was still increasing, Syd 
declared his intention of continuing throughout the 
night. 

“You go to sleep,” he advised Roy. “I’ll tinker 
about a bit myself until I’m tired.” 

But Roy insisted on being allowed to help, and 
so, after a bite of meat and biscuit, they tackled the 
problem anew. 

The raft was misshapen and very weirdly con- 
structed; there was no real plan about it at all, but 
there was plenty of good timber in its structure, and 
though there were an infinite number of loose rope- 
ends hanging in every direction it promised a certain 
amount of stability. 

R 


258 


Sons of the Sea 

“Seems to me as though we’d made it too heavy. 
Blest if I know how we’re going to get it overboard,” 
said Roy, driving temporary nails here and there. 

“Let’s hope we shan’t need it,” amended Syd, 
hauling a lashing taut with the handy-billy. “It is 
a pretty gigantic affair, come to think of it. But the 
bigger it is the safer it will be. And we might sight 
a ship to-morrow.” 

When the grey and wild-seeming dawn broke, the 
lads were practically worn out by their exertions, but 
the aspect of the new day was so threatening that 
Syd determined to hurry on the work still farther. 
The raft was practically finished, but it was necessary 
to provision it, and to this end a considerable quantity 
of the meat below was brought up on deck and placed 
in a small cask they had discovered. It was Roy who 
suggested that a certain portion of this meat should 
be boiled. 

“Don’t see how we’re going to do any cooking 
on a raft,” he said. And he bore some twenty pounds 
of beef and pork to the forecastle. 

Syd meanwhile searched for other supplies; there 
were still a few tins of preserved meat in the cubby- 
hole, and these and a cask of biscuits were lashed 
firmly to the raft. Down in the lazarette they had 
discovered a boat’s mast and sail, and these in their 
turn were, conveyed on deck and placed on the life- 
saving construction. It took some searching to find 
a cask suitable to hold a stock of water, but eventually 
this was done, and by that time Roy had cooked the 
meat satisfactorily. 

“Grub enough to stand a siege,” pronounced Syd. 
“Pity we haven’t any firearms, though. Haven’t even 
got my revolver.” 


Adrift 259 

“There’s the axe, though; that might come in 
handy,” said Roy, and dug the blade of the tool into 
the superstructure. 

“Reckon we deserve a rest if men ever did,” said 
Syd, stretching himself until his muscles creaked. 
“You take a nap, Roy, and I’ll keep an eye on 
things.” 

They were both sore wearied, and Roy was not 
unwilling to avail himself of the permission. He 
slipped below into the cabin, and Syd moved about 
his masterpiece, tightening a lashing here, driving in 
fresh nails there. And he was so employed when the 
full force of a Pacific squall broke on the Atlantic . 
The squall was heralded by hissing rain ; the sea was 
lashed into fury. The derelict sagged wearily down- 
wards into the trough of the sea; she tried to lift 
herself, but only sank the deeper. Syd felt her squirm, 
heard strange sounds, and leaped to the main deck. 
One glance down the after-hatch convinced him that 
the brig could not last another day. The water had 
leaped up tremendously in the hold, the ’tween decks 
were well awash. 

“Better be ready for whatever happens,” said the 
lad, and darted to the half-poop. He wrenched 
the axe clear and began to hack at the rails of the 
poop ; the ship squirmed and slugged beneath 
him. He worked like a fury, sending the splinters 
flying in every direction, careless of the damage he 
did. 

The Atlantic lifted her weather-side as the squall 
increased. It was now blowing with the full force of 
a gale; the sea was lost to sight beneath a whirling 
veil of spray. A wave leaped on deck, another fol- 
lowed it. 


26 o 


Sons of the Sea 

“Roy!” shouted Syd, dashing to the companion- 
way. “Roy!” 

But Roy did not answer, and Syd was perforce 
compelled to race below. He dragged his companion 
from his bunk, and with his arms full of blankets 
flashed back to the deck. Short though his absence 
had been, the Atlantic was already in extremis . 

The end was very near now — nearer even than the 
lads suspected. Wave after wave broke aboard; the 
sea had got up with amazing celerity, but the wind 
was fast approaching hurricane force. With chattering 
teeth, drenched to the skin, Syd and Roy clung to 
their raft, feeling it rock and shiver beneath them. 

“Think she’ll float?” howled Roy. 

Syd shook his head; words were almost useless in 
that terrible turmoil. Sprays whistled about them; 
once the wind snatched Roy from his hold and hurled 
him flat to the deck — it was a miracle he was not 
thrown overboard there and then. The sky was shut 
out in driving, ragged clouds that blinded the light 
and made it like night. The Atlantic screamed 
aloud in her death agony; she slid her nose under a 
monster wave. That wave surged aft; it fled over- 
board through the gaps in the bulwarks, but some of 
it poured down the unprotected hatches. The brig 
tried to rise from the blow ; instead, she slugged 
still deeper. 

And then it was as though the sea had risen solidly 
to overwhelm her. Syd lifted his drenched head to 
see a mighty wall of water race towards the doomed 
fabric. Higher and higher it grew, swifter and swifter 
it roared onwards; he saw the hoary crest sway and 
falter. 

“Hold on, Roy!” he screamed, flinging himself 


Adrift 261 

on the raft and locking his hands in the lashings. 
Something struck him a terrible blow in the back, 
dashing the senses from him. Roy flattened himself 
instinctively, and held his breath as the wave fell. 
When he opened his eyes again the raft was swinging 
and heaving madly beneath him, and the Atlantic had 
disappeared for ever beneath the sea she had defied 
so long. 


CHAPTER XX 
The Great Loneliness 

Hour succeeded anguished hour, and still the hurricane 
continued to roar with unabated fury. The sea was 
terrific; a whirling wilderness of spray and roaring 
waves that tossed the clumsily constructed craft about 
like a cork. The full fury of the Pacific was let loose 
on that hapless craft, but the two boys that formed 
its complement were indifferent. Syd still remained 
unconscious; a fragment of loose wreckage had struck 
him on the head and knocked the life out of him 
completely for the time being ; as for Roy, he was 
too busy holding on for dear life to care much what 
happened. Waves broke freely over the cranky con- 
trivance; one of their carefully lashed casks of pro- 
visions went by the board; a wave washed the bung 
out of the water cask and impregnated the contents 
with salt. 

The darkness of real night closed down on the 
scene, and the horrors multiplied immeasurably. Roy 
saw no chance of life anywhere, and resigned himself 
to death. To be sure he did make one monstrous effort 
during a short lull, and contrived to crawl to Syd’s 
side. His chum’s hands were still locked in the 
lashings, though the tearing of the seas had lacerated 
Syd’s wrists shockingly; he was bleeding freely from 
many wounds. Roy found a loose end of rope, and 
262 


The Great Loneliness 263 

contrived to pass it beneath Syd’s armpits and round 
the structure of the raft; not a moment too soon, for 
Syd was already half-overboard. Roy did more : he 
tried to drag his companion back on to the raft, but 
the effort was too great for his strength, and as the 
squall began afresh, with even greater fury than before, 
he was compelled to desist. 

All through that unforgettable night the raft lurched 
and swung, the lashings creaking wildly. Several of 
the casks were torn away from their places, and the 
strange craft thus lost much of its buoyancy, so that 
it became very like a half-tide rock; but by a mar- 
vellous chance it did not break up into fragments. 

Fortunately the weather was not unbearably cold, 
otherwise the story must have ended here; the wind 
came away from the west, and in spite of its force 
there was no actual chill in it. And the water, too, 
was comparatively warm, so that Roy retained his 
senses by making mighty efforts. But when the first 
red streak of dawn showed in the sky he was practically 
at the end of his tether. He was sick and worn out, 
the procession of hammering waves had robbed him 
of his strength ; he would have been hungry had he 
possessed sufficient spirit to analyse his feelings. 

But day was breaking, and before its glorious rush 
the terrors of the endless night seemed to fade away. 
Roy was vaguely aware of the majestic beauty of that 
memorable dawn ; he saw the east glow with a radiance 
that no words may describe; he saw pearly gleams 
appear in the zenith ; he saw the foul black storm-clouds 
driven away as though pushed into eternity by a gentle, 
loving hand. And then the sun uprose from the sea, 
glowingly crimson, gorgeously inspiring. Roy came 
from a home where religion was not altogether an un- 


264 Sons of the Sea 

known quantity. But never until this morning had he 
realised that over his wanderings was a watchful Eye 
and a guiding Hand. Let it be accounted to him for 
righteousness that now, seeing the splendour of the 
heavens above him, he scrambled to his knees, and, 
holding on with difficulty, prayed with greater sin- 
cerity than ever he had prayed in his life : a prayer 
of thanksgiving to his Maker for the mercies granted 
that night. 

The gale was dying away; already the violence of 
the sea was abating. To be sure, waves still broke 
aboard the raft, but that unseemly craft’s motion was 
less crazy than it had been ; the strain on its lashings 
not so intense. Roy, warmed by the cheering rays of 
the sun, shed off his misery like a discarded garment, 
and began to take an observation. 

The raft floated low in the water, and much of the 
hamper with which it had been covered had been torn 
away and was lost for ever. But a few articles still re- 
mained, and one of these was the old bucket into which 
the cooked meat had been thrust. The water-keg also 
remained in its place, although the bung was gone, and 
the dipper by which its contents could be reached still 
hung to the copper nail by the bunghole. Roy 
struggled across to the keg and drew up a dipperful of 
the liquid; after the incessant soaking of salt water to 
which his lips had been subjected that brackish drink 
tasted like nectar. 

“I hope Syd isn’t dead,” said Roy shiveringly, for- 
getting his own misery in the sight of his chum, 
stretched like a log on the raft, his arms thrust beneath 
the lashings, a rope bound tightly around his back. It 
was not an easy matter to move about the raft, but 
Roy contrived to reached his chum’s side eventually, 


The Great Loneliness 265 

and placing his hand on Syd’s back felt his heart beat 
distinctly. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, for the immensity of 
his isolation had told him what his position might have 
been had the gale left him alone in that waste of waters. 
He found it a matter of supreme difficulty to attend to 
Syd, the uneasy motion of the raft hampered him, but 
he made shift to turn him over on his back, and, still 
keeping the lashing firmly about him, to pour some of 
the brackish contents of the keg through his lips. 

“Hallo!” said Syd weakly. “Hallo!” Then he 
opened his eyes and stared about him in wonderment. 
His last recollection was of the brig, then something 
had struck him down with overwhelming force; after 
that had been a great darkness, shot across by hideous 
nightmares, as unconsciousness changed to sleep : the 
deep sleep of exhaustion. 

“ You’re all right,” chattered Roy, talking his 
hardest, because he was mortally afraid lest Syd should 
drop once more into unconsciousness. And to show 
him how right he was he shot a dipperful of water over 
his chum’s face. Syd spluttered and tried to rise. 

“ What is it ? Have I been hurt ? ” 

“No; it’s this rope, I fixed it round you; we’ve had 
a rotten night. I tell you what : it was a good thing 
we made this raft.” 

“Why, where’s the brig?” Syd craned his neck 
and looked here and there, seeing nothing but the sky 
above and the sea beneath. 

“ Gone ; that wave sank her as we floated clear. The 
storm’s dying out now, though, thank goodness, and the 
sea’s growing calmer. ’Fraid we’ve lost a lot of grub.” 

Syd lay where he was for a while, allowing the 
increasing warmth of the sun to soak into his chilled 


266 


Sons of the Sea 

frame. He, too, realising their escape, muttered 
prayers; but presently the need for action came upon 
him. 

“We’ve got to look about and see what we can do 
for ourselves,” he remarked. “Wish I wasn’t so 
sore ! ” He tried to throw off the lashings that held 
him, but it was necessary for Roy to come to his assist- 
ance before he could rise to a fairly upright position 
on the raft. 

“Funnily enough, I’m peckish,” he said. “Let’s 
feed; it isn’t a bad sort of start to make.” This drew 
attention to the fact that many of their consumable 
stores had been washed away, and much of what re- 
mained was spoilt by the sea- water’s intrusion. But 
they were thankful for what remained, and made a 
satisfactory meal off cold boiled salt junk and slightly 
damp biscuits, washing the whole down with draughts 
of the brackish water. 

“Better not drink too much of that,” said Syd warn- 
ingly. “If the sun gets really hot we’ll be no end 
thirsty, and that stuff will only aggravate it. And such 
as it is, we’ll have to use it carefully.” 

“What’s to do now?” asked Roy, when they had 
made a further examination of their supplies, and found 
them meagre enough in all truth. 

“I vote we rig the sail for a start,” said Syd. “The 
mast hasn’t been washed away, that’s one comfort; and 
it’s better to move about the sea than keep in one place, 
anyhow. Far more likely to sight a passing ship if 
we’re altering our ground all the time. There’s a bit 
of a breeze blowing, too.” 

They occupied themselves for some time in fixing 
the boat mast. They had neglected to arrange for its 
reception beforehand, but they contrived to scotch it 


The Great Loneliness 267 

between a couple of the raft’s timbers; and as the stays 
were already attached, they soon had the spar upright 
and the sail spread. The raft felt the weight of the 
bellying canvas and began to move through the water 
slowly — very slowly. Still, she moved, and a faint line 
of bubbles sprang up astern. 

“Wind’s due west, so far as I can tell,” remarked 
Syd, when the work was done, regarding the sun’s 
position carefully. “Wonder what lies to the east of 
us ? Wonder what lies ahead of us, chum ? ” 

“I wonder.’’ They both fell thoughtful; there 
seemed no need for words. It was Roy who broke the 
silence at last. 

“Look here, we needn’t funk it, old chap. We’re 
not in the happiest circumstances, are we? But we’ve 
got to put a stout heart to it. I vote we make an agree- 
ment, that we don’t quarrel. This business isn’t any 
worse than, say, Bully Briggs, poor chap. If we stick 
together we’ll win out all right.” 

Syd extended his hand, and a fresh compact of 
friendship was entered into there and then. Both knew 
instinctively that the coming days would be a sore trial 
on their patience, and a quarrel would render their 
position unbearable. During the days that were to 
come they were to thank their God for that fine gift 
of friendship, which helped them through trials and 
privations without end. 

“And now,” said Syd, who was not at all a senti- 
mental lad, “I think I’ll doctor up these wrists of mine; 
they hurt like steam.” 

Since the sea was quieter and as practically no 
water was splashing aboard the raft, he decided to bathe 
his hurts with a tiny quantity of their so-called fresh 
water, and having done this he bound them up with 


268 


Sons of the Sea 

strips torn from his shirt. The lads had donned their 
own clothing recently because the ill-fitting garments 
they had found in the brig hampered their movements. 
Rendered more comfortable thus, Syd sat down and 
began to talk. 

“To make the thing complete,” he said, “we ought 
to find a desert island. One thing : the Pacific’s the 
best place for ’em. And so far as I remember we 
weren’t a thousand miles from islands when we left the 
Cape Horn. Only we might have gone any distance 
since then. I don’t think we were driven very far south, 
though — the weather’s too warm. Well, we might find 
an island, and if we do, we’ll hope it will be a desert 
island.” 

“Why?” asked Roy, unconsciously falling into his 
old position of second in command. 

“Cannibals,” said Syd darkly. “They still flourish 
in some parts, so they say. And I don’t want to be 
eaten yet awhile. You see, we haven’t any firearms, 
and an axe isn’t much to attack a hostile cannibal 
tribe.” 

“I wouldn’t mind much, so long as it was dry land,” 
said Roy a trifle ruefully. “I’m getting sick of seeing 
nothing but sky and water.” 

“We might be sicker before we’ve done.” Syd put 
on an assumption of hopefulness that he hardly felt. 
“What I want is a little more water — rain. I don’t like 
to think that we’ve to live on salt grub and salt water in 
this heat.” 

To turn their minds from a contemplation of their 
woes, Syd began to talk now of other days — at Summer- 
ford and aboard the Cape Horn. Presently : 

“I wonder why Father Carey told Forbes to settle 
my hash?” he remarked. 


269 


The Great Loneliness 

“Wanted to get rid of you,” suggested Roy. 

“ But he could have done that by sending me to sea, 
anyhow. No, I don’t quite see why he should want me 
murdered.” 

“ If you went to sea there was a jolly good chance of 
your getting back. I expect he didn’t want you to get 
back. I don’t pretend to be a suspicious sort of chap, 
but I never did like Daddy Carey, nor Mother Carey 
either for that matter. They looked like something 
out of a Dickens book — the villains of the piece — like 
Uriah Heep or Quilp. I wonder if you were to come 
into any money after you grew up.” 

“Yes, I think there was some; I don’t know how 
much, but someone told me my father had left some. 
Why ? ” 

“Then I’ll bet that accounts for the milk in the 
coco-nut,” said Roy solemnly. “Old Carey-bird’s been 
skinning you ; afraid you might get wise and ask ques- 
tions; sends you to sea — he wouldn’t do it at first, until 
he saw a chance; arranged with Forbes to get rid of 
you — there you are. Troublesome youngster out of 
the road; stolen money not asked for — villain of the 
piece all serene with his ill-gotten gains. And 
if it hadn’t been for Carey you wouldn’t have been 
here.” 

“Oh, hang it ! we can’t blame him for that,” contra- 
dicted Syd. “Fair play’s a jewel. No, I wanted to 
come to sea, so did you, and we’ve always dreamed 
about desert islands and pirates and things. This is 
coming like our dream, isn’t it? ” 

“Yes, so long as it doesn’t turn into a nightmare,” 
said Roy, and yawned as he spoke. “I’ve been awake 
all my life, as far as my feelings go now, so here’s 
for a caulk.” He snuggled down on the raft, first care- 


270 


Sons of the Sea 

fully passing a turn of rope about him, and slept 
serenely in the sun’s glare, one arm thrown over his 
eyes to shield them from the piercing brilliance. Syd 
stood up and scanned the horizon ; there was nothing 
in sight. He was aware of thirst, and taking a 
dipperful of water from the keg, he began to swallow 
greedily, when its acrid taste recalled him to his 
senses. 

“I’ll be thirstier still if I do that,” he said, and 
contented himself with merely moistening his lips. 
Then he remembered what he had read, and taking off 
his shirt he dipped it into the sea and wrung it out, 
donning it afresh after this operation was completed. 
Sure enough, his thirst vanished. 

“What we’ve got to do,” he said, “is to eat as little 
as we can and do without drinking as much as possible.” 
He got up again and searched the horizon ; nothing was 
in sight. He sat down and his head drooped forward ; in 
a little while he too slept. For several hours sleep held 
him a prisoner, and it was almost the hour of sunset 
when he awoke — to see in the distance the sail of a ship. 
But as he sprang to his feet with a sharp cry of delight, 
he saw the shadow vanish — the ship must have passed 
them while he slept. 

He stood there watching hungrily until the sun set, 
and darkness closed on the world of waters, then with 
a sigh he dropped back to the planking. 

“After this,” he muttered, “one of us must keep 
awake — we must.” And when Roy wakened he told 
him of his neglect, expecting at the least a torrent of 
recriminations. 

“P’raps we shouldn’t have attracted her attention, 
anyhow,” said Roy philosophically. “But all the same, 
we’ll keep watch and watch for the future.” And so they 


The Great Loneliness 271 

did keep watch and watch for a week and half another 
week, and during all that time they saw nothing but 
sea and sky and an occasional seabird. Their eyes were 
weary with much gazing over limitless spaces; their 
hearts had grown sick in their bosoms. Their skins 
were sore with salt, and hope had fled from their souls. 
They lay alone in the centre of an unpeopled waste. 


CHAPTER XXI 

Land Ho! 

“ Roy ! Roy ! ” The voice that spoke the words was 
feeble and croaking, the lips through which it passed 
were dry and cracked. Syd Brunton shook the inani- 
mate figure beside the mast sharply ; Roy merely moved 
slightly, gave a groan and then lay still. 

“ Roy, Roy ! ” Once again that frantic shaking, 
fear was clawing terribly at Syd’s heart. A fortnight 
had passed since they left the brig, a fortnight full of 
strangely monotonous experiences. They had grown 
apathetic and numb ; it hardly mattered to them whether 
they lived or died. There was nothing to live for save 
to eat hard, raw meat, and to gaze everlastingly over 
those deep blue wastes about them. Sometimes the 
wind blew, and then the raft, feeling the weight of the 
sail, slopped slowly forward; sometimes it fell calm, 
and then strange, sinister triangles of black would pro- 
trude from the glassy surface of the sea and move rest- 
lessly about the raft. There was not a drop of fresh 
water left in the keg, although fresh water was a mis- 
nomer, for during the past few days the contents of 
that keg had been but little less salt than the sea. Dur- 
ing all this time not one single drop of rain had fallen. 
True, an occasional flying fish had fallen aboard the 
raft, to be devoured greedily almost before it ceased to 
quiver; true, they had contrived to bend a rusty nail, 
272* 


273 


Land Ho! 

and attaching it to a ropeyarn had caught some denizens 
of the deep ; but after eating the first one both boys were 
attacked by violent pains, and after that they kept 
sternly aloof from any fish they did not know. 

Water was their greatest need. They still had food 
of a sort, though their biscuits were all eaten. The salt 
meat was unpalatable enough in very truth, but it served 
to keep life in their bodies. And during the past two 
days Roy Halliday had complained — not often, let it 
be said to his credit — of sickness and violent pains; he 
refused to eat, and in his sleep moaned for water. Syd 
did the best he could; he stripped his chum’s shirt 
from him and rinsed it in the sea, but the fierce heat of 
the sun swiftly dried it, and the constant coats of salt 
on Roy’s skin set up irritation and open sores. 

But now Syd had seen a dark line to windward, and 
it was moving steadily down towards the raft. So he 
shook his companion, and as the shakings did not serve, 
dropped on his knees and cried : 

“It’s going to rain, Roy; it’s going to rain.” At 
sound of that blessed word Roy sat up. 

“You said it was raining,” he said weakly. 

“I said it was going to rain; so it is. Look there.” 
Already the sea in the distance was darkened by the fall- 
ing rain : a thick black cloud was moving slowly athwart 
the sky. But doubts began to assail Syd’s heart. 
Would that life-bearing cloud pass over the raft, or 
would it run wide, and whilst wasting its precious con- 
tents on the ocean, avoid the raft completely ? He had 
already lowered the sail, with the idea of using it as a 
sheet in which to catch the rain ; but now he hoisted it 
feverishly. The cloud appeared to be moving across the 
wind, and it might be possible to bring the raft within 
its radius. Roy had dropped back again, almost too 
s 


274 Sons of the Sea 

exhausted to take any interest in what was happening; 
Syd must do everything by himself. It seemed an 
eternity before the first big drop splashed on his up- 
turned face ; but then the suspense was over. The edge 
of the squall was passing above the raft and all would 
be well. He dowsed the sail, he spread it across the 
structure, tricing up its edges as best he could, working 
like a dozen men in his eagerness, and his clothes were 
saturated upon his back the while. Little did he care ! 
The delicious coolness of that shower settled on his 
parched and salt-sore skin like healing balm ; he revelled 
in its grateful caress. But he worked as well, he 
scooped up a handful of the water that was settling in 
the sail — it was salt as brine. But that was only to 
be expected; the canvas had been soaked and resoaked 
in salt water a score of times. He waited, curbing his 
impatience, until the sail was half full, and then, shak- 
ing it violently, he capsized the weighted portion and 
threw the accumulated water away. The rain was 
coming down in earnest now, not in drops but in solid 
sheets. 

He tore off his shirt and laid it on the raft until it 
was soaked and soaked again, he wrung it out and 
spread it afresh. Then he carried it to Roy and wrung 
it over his face; he opened the lad’s mouth and allowed 
some of the delicious beverage to trickle down his throat. 
That was all he could do for the time — the rest of the 
precious stuff must be treasured with greater care than 
much fine gold. 

In an incredibly short space of time the sail was full 
and brimming over. Syd took thought to himself, and 
burying his face in the soft pellucid liquid he drank 
his fill, tantalising himself by allowing faint trickles 
to run down his throat, until the fascination became un- 


/ 


275 


Land Ho! 

bearable, then he drank in copious draughts. It was 
sweeter far than anything he had ever tasted ; it drained 
down his throat with a healing caress, and his weakness 
and misery fled from him before a rush of new strength. 

But his first thought was that this good fortune could 
not last for all time, and he immediately exerted himself 
to lay in a store of the priceless fluid. The water keg 
was rinsed out carefully and refilled, the bung was ham- 
mered tightly into place; everything that would hold 
water was filled, and still the sail was brimming over, 
though the squall showed signs of abatement now. 

Syd bathed himself thoroughly, washing off the 
accumulated salt from his skin, and vigorous new life 
entered his veins. Even the tough raw salt meat had a 
different taste on his palate; he ate and urged Roy to 
follow his example. 

“We’re better off now than we were a fortnight 
ago,” he remarked to Roy. 

“Yes, but I’m sick of this, old chap,” said Roy 
feebly. “I believe I’d have died right off if we hadn’t 
got that rain.” The squall ceased, the sun shone out 
afresh, drying the surface of the raft with remarkable 
speed. Once again intense heat claimed the world ; the 
ripples on the surface of the sea vanished, it spread as 
smooth as glass in every direction. 

For three more days the raft drifted on, blown hither 
and thither by the uncertain breezes. On the afternoon 
of the third day the wind freshened, and Syd called on 
Roy to assist him with the sail. Roy made but a feeble 
attempt, he was growing steadily weaker — he com- 
plained of pains in his jaws and limbs, and Syd, not 
owning to himself his fear, thought of scurvy, that 
dreaded foe. 

The wind was freshening with remarkable speed; 


276 Sons of the Sea 

the raft began to throw herself about on the strong 
“pobble ” that was arising. So violent did this motion 
become that the water-keg was torn from its lashings — 
which had stretched owing to the heat and dryness — and 
disappeared overboard. It floated three-parts sub- 
merged for a moment and then vanished from sight. 
Syd gave a groan of despair — if the horrors of thirst 
were again added to their many agonies he feared for 
Roy’s life. Weak as he was, disheartened by long 
anxiety and suspense, Roy Halliday was reduced to 
such a condition that even the slightest effort was in- 
tolerable. He lay on the raft without attempting to 
move, he made some pretence of eating the ever 
smaller allowances of food that Syd gave him, but 
the wretched junk nauseated him. But for the water 
he must assuredly have died; and now the water was 
gone. 

Syd groaned deeply in the bitterness of his soul, and 
sat down beside his chum, his head sunk in his hands. 
He had done everything he could, and he had failed. 
His courage ebbed away in gusts; despair snatched at 
him and subjected him to a terrible temptation. 

“What’s the good of going on with it?” he asked 
himself. “Better to finish it once for all.” A leap into 
the growingly angry sea would put a period to his own 
sufferings; the end would be swift, for he need not try 
to swim. Then a low groan from Roy brought his 
eyes to his companion’s face. Roy was staring at him 
hungrily. * 

“I’m tired, Syd; I’m so tired,” said the younger lad. 
“I wish I was dead.” Perhaps it was hearing his own 
thoughts voiced that aroused self-indignation in the 
heart of Sydney Brunton. Whatever the cause, he stood 
aghast at his own recent cowardice. He got to his feet, 





“Syd stood against the mast, and peered steadily beneath 
his hand ” ( see fage 2 77). 





Land Ho ! 277 

and with an assumption of hopefulness that he did not 
feel, cried : 

“Dead — dead ! Rubbish ! We haven’t been spared 
so long to die now. Cheer up, lad ! we’re worth a 
good many dead men yet.” 

Crack ! The raft gave a sharp lurch, a furious gust 
of wind broke upon her, and the sail was split almost 
to ribbons. Syd clung to the mast, which shook vio- 
lently, and grappled with the remnants of that precious 
sail, doubly useful to them as a means of propulsion 
and also a water-catcher, if rain should come again. He 
reduced the roaring fragments to order, and by the time 
the work was done the squall had passed. And the day 
was almost past, too; the sun came out from behind the 
clouds, and poised itself on the horizon. The raft was 
heading almost directly into the eye of the sun, which 
showed, a monstrous red disk, seemingly close at hand. 
Syd stood against the mast and peered steadily beneath 
his hand, as he had peered at every sunrise and every 
sunset since the brig went down. Suddenly his form 
stiffened, he narrowed his gaze. Then, trembling in 
every limb, hardly able to hold himself upright because 
of his emotion, he turned to Roy and pointed to the 
west. 

“Land ho ! ” he cried in a cracked and feeble voice. 
“Roy, there’s land ahead! ” 

Silhouetted against the dying orb was something 
that could only have been an island, an upward-soaring 
tongue of blackness that spelt hope and life to the sorely 
afflicted pair. 

“Land?” said Roy unbelievingly. “Land? I 
thought — I was afraid — there wasn’t any land left. 
Land ? ” 

“Yes, land — I’ll swear it’s land, right ahead. Buck 


278 Sons of the Sea 

up, Roy ; there’ll be fruit there, cocoanuts, water — oh, 
thank God ! ” And the reaction was such that Syd 
collapsed on the raft and lay for a little while like one 
dead. 

But not for long. Almost as the upper rim of the 
sun disappeared from view he was on his feet again, 
intent on making the most of this providential chance. 
It was one thing to see land, it was another thing to 
reach it on a craft of the raft’s crude construction. But 
so far as Syd could tell the wind was blowing them 
straight towards the spot he marked; and only waiting 
until a star came out amongst the red afterglow in the 
sky, to fix his course, he cast loose the tattered sail and 
made shift to set it. Its aid was not much, but as the 
wind continued fresh the raft moved onward perceptibly, 
and she was still moving when night closed blackly 
upon her. 

There was no sleep for the lads that night, they were 
too full of thoughts for the future. What would this 
land contain ? Savage cannibals, who would slaughter 
them out of hand without a hope for life ? Or would it 
be but a bare pinnacle of rock, containing nothing to 
support life ? Fear and hope alternated in their brains, 
and the hours of darkness seemed interminable. 

At last the density of the night seemed to thin, as 
though a veil had been withdrawn from the sky, it 
changed from black to purple. A faint streak of 
crimson appeared in the east, a tiny fleecy cloud sailing 
aloft became touched with pink. Syd strained his eyes 
towards the west, and thought to see a dark mass show 
dim against the darkness; he looked again, and now 
there was no mistake. There was land within a mile, 
and the raft was heading directly for it. 

The darkness paled, the east grew rosy, the zenith 


Land Ho ! 279 

was filled with opalescent radiance; a new day was 
born, bringing with it hope and joy. Yes, there was 
the land — a high shelf of rock rising from a stretch of 
shining sand, crowned on the summit with waving 
palm-trees. Before the sun had climbed twice its own 
breadth up the eastern sky, the raft grounded on 
sloping sand and came to a standstill, with gentle 
wavelets plashing about its planking. 

“Up, Roy lad, up, we’re safe at last,” cried Syd, 
and too eager to wait longer he cast loose the lashings 
that held his companion fast, picked him up in his arms, 
and half-swam, half-waded to terra firma. 

He laid Roy down on a smooth sheet of sand, and 
rolled himself on that good earth, clawing up the shin- 
ing fragments, letting them trickle through his fingers. 
The sea had lost its terrors now; here was something 
of infinitely greater security than all the rafts ever con- 
structed. He rolled on his back and kicked his legs in 
the air ; he shouted and crowed ; he arose and danced 
a solemn measure amongst the fragments of broken 
coral lying about. 

“Doesn’t seem much of an island,” grumbled Roy. 
“It’s only rock and sand.” 

“That’s all you know, my son; this is only one side 
of it. Look up there; crane your neck — can’t you see 
the palm-trees? Cocoanuts, Roy — full of milk; think 
of it trickling down your throat. I’m going to get you 
some now.” 

Long suffering had taught Syd an excellent lesson in 
self-denial; he thought of Roy first, taking no heed 
to his own pressing need for rest. Without further 
ado he began to scramble up the steeply sloping side of 
the island. He might have walked along the beach to 
north or south, but he aimed for the highest point he 


28 o 


Sons of the Sea 

could see, because there were the palms that meant 
refreshment and health to his chum. Up and up he 
went, climbing like a squirrel or a sailor; clinging to 
projecting fragments of rock, spotted here and there 
with rank sea-grasses. Breathless, but rejoicing, he 
gained the summit — it was not more than fifty feet from 
the beach — and found himself standing almost knee- 
deep in luxuriant grass. There was a cluster of coco-nut 
trees at hand; the heavy fruit had fallen to the ground 
in great quantities. But as Syd’s eyes roamed across 
the wonderful sight he started. The fallen coco-nuts 
did not lie about in disorder; they were neatly stacked 
in heaps. Human hands alone had done that work; 
therefore a thrill of fear shook him : they were not alone 
on the island. 

He halted where he was, like a frozen man, wild 
thoughts careering through his brain. Who could be 
on the island ? Savages, undoubtedly ; and if that were 
the case, would it not be better to retreat before he was 
discovered? Better to trust to the sea and the storm- 
tossed raft than trust to the mercy of bloodthirsty 
savages who knew no mercy. But he must be sure. 

He walked forward, noticing that the ground sloped 
away smoothly from the cliff he had climbed. The 
island — he could not gauge its extent — must have been 
of considerable size, he said, because away as far as 
his eyes could see was a belt of trees, and that screened 
everything else from view; but, even so, there was a 
space of over a mile between him and those trees. Plan- 
tains grew in profusion here and there, there were a 
hundred plants of which he did not know the name; 
but none of these things attracted him. Away to his 
left, rising smoothly in the clear and sparkling air, was 
a curl of smoke. 


28 i 


Land Ho! 

“ Smoke !” said Syd, with a little gasp; and his 
imagination conjured up visions of feasting cannibals 
en g a g e d in a horrid orgy. Perhaps even now they were 
regaling themselves on human flesh, perhaps 

He halted where he was, irresolute, not knowing 
whether to flee or advance. Then recognising that 
against the sky he must present an easily distinguishable 
picture, he dropped flat on his face, and lay there 
pondering. Should he go back to the raft and Roy, 
and insist on an immediate flight? 

He thought of the sufferings they had endured. 
Another few days of such suffering must assuredly kill 
Roy. It was better to face the worst courageously. A 
speedy death at the hands of savages would be better 
than a lingering, long-drawn-out death by thirst and 
scurvy; and, too, that fire might not have been kindled 
by savages. He was a coward to taste such fear. 

He began to crawl forward stealthily towards the 
direction in which the smoke appeared. Taking advan- 
tage of a line of shrubs, he got to his feet and ran as 
nimbly as his cramped limbs would allow him, but, 
coming to an open space again, he dropped flat and 
crept. Suddenly he stopped, almost on the very brink 
of a slight cliff. The smoke was still ahead ; but another 
moment would tell him the truth, he said. Almost 
afraid to breathe, lest those who had made that fire 
should hear, he drew himself forward until he was on 
the very verge of the height. Then he looked down. 

There were no savages in sight; there was little 
but a smoothly sloping stretch of sand leading down to 
a sea that was like sapphire in the morning sunlight. 
The small cliff overlooked a semicircular bay, a reef 
ran out to seaward, and if Syd had been conversant with 
the construction of coral islands, he would have known 


282 


Sons of the Sea 

that in course of time that reef would extend until it 
formed a complete atoll, encircling a lagoon. But as 
yet the busy coral insects had not completed their handi- 
work; the reef was a clear half-circle, but the little bay 
was wide open to the sea on one side. Still, Syd had 
small time to think of these natural features; he was 
watching the small fire that burnt vigorously almost 
at the foot of the cliff where he lay. No savages were 
there, but hanging over the embers was a tripod, and 
on that tripod was something that looked remarkably 
like a kettle. Even Syd, young as he was, knew that 
savages do not use kettles of civilised pattern. 

He looked farther, conquering the desire to let out 
a yell. There was something in the water not more than 
two dozen fathoms from the beach, something that re- 
minded him oddly of the masts of a ship, and fastened 
to one of these masts was a construction that might have 
been a raft — a rough formation of small tree trunks and 
planking. 

“Wonder what that is?” said Syd, straining his 
eyes. “Hallo!” The shining surface of the sea was 
broken, something appeared in sight, ripples broke 
away. 

“A man’s head! ” gasped Syd. “Looks as if there 
were mermen here.” But another moment set his doubts 
at rest. The head was followed by a body; a man 
scrambled on to the raft. Syd watched him fascina- 
tedly. What was he doing? 

Owing to the pellucid nature of the atmosphere, it 
was possible to discern every motion made by the 
stranger. He sat on the edge of the raft for a clear 
minute without moving, quite evidently basking in the 
glorious heat. Then he bestirred himself, took hold of 
what seemed to be a light line, and, bending forward, 


Land Ho ! 283 

began to haul in the slack hand over hand. Presently 
a weight seemed to tell; his motions became slower; 
he stopped once for breath, but continued his work 
afresh after a moment’s pause. The rope swept upwards 
through his hands; something showed above the sur- 
face; the man reached down and hauled on to the raft 
a small, square object, which he laid aside. 

It was the most mysterious thing Syd had ever seen. 
A strange fascination held him in its grasp; the sight 
of this lonely toiler dragging up unknown spoil from 
the depths of the sea was almost enough to terrify a 
beholder. The sun shone down upon him as he moved 
about the raft, and Syd wondered what next he would 
do. Would he disappear from sight beneath the waves, 
or would he — would he ? 

Doubt was swiftly set at rest. The man looked 
towards the shore, cast loose a lashing that held his 
small raft to the upright object which might have been 
the mast of a ship, and, throwing over a clumsy scull, 
began to propel his craft landwards. So much Syd 
saw; then he gave a quick gasp of unbelief. He had 
seen something that made his heart throb wildly in his 
breast — something that brought a dull hammering into 
his brain. 

“His skin is white!” he muttered. “His skin is 
white ! ” 


CHAPTER XXII 

A Strange Encounter 

He took another glance at the stranger to satisfy him- 
self that his first surmise was correct ; and then, amazed 
at the whirl of emotion which seized him, he drew 
himself up and began to run back the way he had come 
as swiftly as his legs would carry him. Roy must know 
this good news, he said; Roy, who had lost all heart. 
He tore across the ground like a deer, forgetting his 
own weariness; but when he reached the stacked heaps 
of nuts again he remembered that Roy must be attended 
to. Good news alone would not bring him back to 
health. He selected several of the nuts, choosing the 
greenest, because he remembered to have read that green 
nuts were most refreshing, and, with his arms full, 
reached the summit of the cliff. 

He never remembered how he descended the small 
precipice, but somehow he found himself at the bottom 
talking incoherently to Roy, who had started up at 
sight of the fruit. Syd smashed a nut against a rock, 
and poured a good half-pint of refreshing liquid down 
Roy’s throat; he fetched the axe from the raft, and 
chopped the top off another nut, which he also handed 
to his chum. 

“Take some yourself,” said Roy, drinking greedily. 
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in all my life.” 

“There’s a man — a white man ! ” shouted Syd, hack- 
281 


A Strange Encounter 285 

ing at another nut. “The island’s inhabited. We’re 
safe now, Roy; think of it, we’re safe.” They let this 
elemental fact soak into their consciousness, and ate 
more nuts. After the tough and nauseating salt junk, 
those unripe coco-nuts were finer food than the nectar 
and ambrosia of the gods. They ate to repletion, and 
felt fresh waves of strength and life surge through them. 
Roy made shift to get to his feet and stagger awkwardly 
amongst the sand and stones. 

“I thought I was going to die,” he said. “I’m 
going to live now. Let’s find out who this man is.” 

“Steady does it, my son,” said Syd. “If- you go 
trying to climb cliffs at that rate you’ll fall and break 
your neck, and what good’s an island to you if it only 
kills you? Come to think of it, there shouldn’t be any 
real need to climb at all — it was the palm trees that took 
me up there. We ought to be able to walk along this 
beach. Feel able to move, Roy?” 

“Yes, rather, come on; don’t let’s waste time.” 

They looked at the raft with something of affection ; 
after all, although they had suffered on it, it had served 
them well and had saved their lives. But its use was 
at an end now, and after taking the axe and throwing 
the mast ashore, they left it to its fate, stranded on the 
beach, with the falling tide leaving it high and dry. 

It was not an easy matter to walk along the beach ; 
they found that the fictitious strength given to them by 
the coco-nuts swiftly vanished, and many a time they 
were constrained to halt and throw themselves down in 
the sand to rest their aching limbs. For weeks now 
they had hardly used their legs, save to move awkwardly 
about the raft ; but little by little they acquired a mastery 
over them, and presently, the sun now being high in 
the heavens, they wheeled round the edge of the 


286 


Sons of the Sea 

precipice which had backed up their first landing-place, 
and Syd exclaimed aloud that this was the spot he had 
seen previously. Yes, there was the white reef glisten- 
ing against the azure of the sea, there were the objects 
thrust up through the water — they were a ship’s masts, 
for the tide had receded, and exposed the heavy tops. 
There, too, was the softly rising smoke ; but they could 
see more than that now. The fire was built beneath the 
face of that slight cliff from the summit of which Syd 
had seen the stranger. And in the face of that cliff was 
an opening, very evidently a cave of sorts. A raffle of 
gear lay about the mouth of the cave; at that distance 
the boys could not decide what it consisted of, but 
there seemed to be piles of hewn timber, to say nothing 
of a litter of broken boxes and the like. 

And then a figure emerged from the cave, threw 
wood on the fire and began to move down towards the 
beach. 

“Hi! hi!” yelled Syd, running forward. The 
figure stopped and straightened itself, it bolted back to 
the cave-mouth and disappeared. Syd fled on, forget- 
ting for the moment Roy, who toiled painfully behind. 
When a distance of less than a hundred yards separated 
the lad from the cave the figure reappeared, holding in 
its hand a long lance — the sun caught its steel tip — and 
stood on the defensive. 

“Stop, don’t come a step nearer,” said a voice in 
English. “Don’t move! ” 

“We’re English, too,” roared Syd. And as he 
spoke he stopped, for the thought had come to him that 
perhaps this man would resent their appearance. He 
would wait for Roy, together they might give an ex- 
planation of their presence on the island. 

“ English ? English ? ” The figure dropped the 


A Strange Encounter 287 

lance and moved quickly to meet Syd. The lad saw 
a man clad only in tattered trousers and shirt, bearded 
almost to the waist, with long, matted hair hanging 
over his eyes. Now that he had donned his shirt it was 
hard to realise that this was a white man, what little of 
his face could be seen was burnt brick-coloured by the 
fierce tropical sun. When Syd had seen him first he 
had noticed the skin of his body was white ; but now he 
wondered if his eyes had played him false. 

“ English ? ” cried this strange specimen of humanity. 
“ Did you say you were English ? ” And there was 
something in the voice that caused a sharp pain to 
clutch at Sydney Brunton’s throat, that caused a prick- 
ing sensation in his eyes. 

“No, it can’t be,” he whispered to himself. “No; 
these things don’t happen out of books.” The man 
was almost within reach, he stopped short and looked 
piercingly at the lad. Then he threw his hand to his 
forehead and staggered. 

“Madness at last, I knew it must come,” he said in 
a hoarse voice. The hand dropped from his forehead 
and Syd felt his shoulder clutched as in a vice. 

“You, boy, you, what is your name?” asked the 
islander, shaking the lad until his teeth chattered. 

“Sydney Brunton — father,” said Syd chokingly. 
“You are my father, aren’t you?” And the next 
moment he was enveloped in a hug that almost choked 
the breath from his body. 

“If you’re Syd Brunton, I’m your father, yes,” said 
the bearded man. “But what in the name of all creation 
are you doing here ? ” 

Syd tried to speak and failed, the revelation had 
deprived him of the power of speech. He could only 
gulp and stare unbelievingly into his father’s face, and 


288 


Sons of the Sea 

remember the clear grey eyes that had always held a 
smile for him. Before he could find words Roy Halli- 
day stumbled up, gathering himself together valiantly 
and undoubtedly thinking his chum was being 
murdered. 

“Keep off, there, ” panted Roy, doubling his fists. 
“If you touch Syd you touch me ! Keep off.” 

“And who might this be ? ” asked Mr. Brunton. He 
spoke slowly, haltingly, as if unaccustomed to use his 
voice. 

“Roy Halliday; you remember Dr. Halliday’s son — 
at Summerford?” replied Syd quickly. And Roy in 
his turn was subjected to a voluminous embrace. He 
wriggled free and looked inquiringly at Syd. 

“It’s just like something out of a book,” said Syd. 
“This is father, Roy.” 

Roy puzzled over the matter for a clear moment, 
then he extended his hand, and his first utterance was 
very characteristic. 

“This will be one in the eye for old Father Carey, 
won’t it? ” he observed. “How do you do, sir? How 
do you do ? ” 

“I do very well,” was Mr. Brunton ’s grave reply. 
“But don’t stand here, you boys look half-starved; you, 
Roy, your face is all scarred and rough — have you got 
scurvy ? ” 

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” said Roy. “But it 
doesn’t matter now overmuch.” 

Mr. Brunton was fast recovering his powers of 
speech, and as he ushered the boys before him towards 
the cave he spoke glibly, asking innumerable questions. 
It was four years since he had set eyes on his son, 
and there was very much to learn of what had happened 
in the interval. But Syd was not allowed an oppor- 


A Strange Encounter 289 

tunity to reply ; question succeeded question at a head- 
long pace, and long before the string was exhausted 
they were at the cave. 

“This is where I live, where I’ve lived for three 
years,” said Mr. Brunton. “This is where I thought 
I would die, too — but I was saved for this meeting. 
Boys, come inside, you must eat something. I have 
some food that I was preparing for dinner — pork, be- 
cause there are pigs on the island. I trap them, you 
know.” He talked at a furious pace, but as he talked 
he busied himself in making his guests comfortable. 
He pointed out the features of the warm, dry cave, 
floored with snow-white coral sand, walled with coral 
rock, and the boys drank in the details with wide eyes. 
This was better than even their wildest dreams — Robin- 
son Crusoe, they said, wasn’t in the same street with 
this. 

“And it is really you, Syd, really you? I’m not 
dreaming, as I’ve dreamed so often before.” 

“Oh, it’s Syd right enough, sir,” said Roy, hungrily 
w r atching his host take some half coco-nut shells from 
a shelf in the cave. 

“I used to dream of you at nights, Syd, but you 
weren’t a man like this, you w r ere only a small boy, 
almost always in mischief. Let me look at you again, 
my boy, you’re good for weary eyes.” 

He placed his hands on his son’s shoulders and held 
him at arm’s length, but a remembrance of their needs 
sent him to the fire with the kettle, from which there 
swiftly emerged a savoury steam. When he returned 
with the kettle Syd and Roy confessed that they were 
ravenously hungry, and this in spite of the coco-nuts. 

“Eat your fill, boys, I’m an adept cook by this 
time. Fresh pork and herbs, it’s none so bad. Can’t 
T 


290 Sons of the Sea 

offer you bread, I’m afraid, but there are tons of plan- 
tains. Tell me all about everything, everything.” 

Alternately, interrupting themselves by constant 
mouthfuls, contradicting each other, corroborating each 
other’s statements, the two boys told of their experiences 
from the time when they were left aboard the brig 
until their landing on the island. They did not dwell 
elaborately on their sufferings, because those sufferings 
were now over for the time, and they were boys, to 
whom the present is sufficient and the past of but little 
account. They talked on until the sun began to climb 
down the western sky, until sleep began to claw at 
their eyelids, but Mr. Brunton even then was not 
content. 

“And now,” said Syd, with a fond glance into his 
father’s face, “what about yourself, dad?” 

“That’s a long story, Syd,” observed Mr. Brunton. 
“A long, long story, and it needs a lot of telling. And 
yet my story sounds very trivial beside yours, I dare 
say. Well, well, I’ll tell you all there is to tell to- 
morrow. Meanwhile you must turn in and sleep and 
forget your sufferings altogether. We have plenty of 
food and water here; I must show you my island to- 
morrow, Syd and Roy, it’s a veritable garden of 
delights. But meantime another meal, eh ? and then 
bed.” 

And although the boys entreated him to tell his story 
then and there he refused firmly, realising that, after 
their long exposure and anxiety, their brains needed 
rest, especially as the excitement of this marvellous 
meeting had come to crown all their adventures. 

Syd determined to keep awake, he confided this 
determination to Roy, but was answered by a snore. 

“Might as well go to sleep too,” said Syd drowsily, 


A Strange Encounter 291 

conscious of a great contentment. And in another 
minute he was lost in dreamland, whilst Mr. Brunton, 
building up his fire, lifted his face to the glorious stars 
and thanked his Maker for this good thing that had 
come into his life, to give him fresh hope when hope 
was long since dead. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

The Castaway’s Story 

“When the Chesapeke went down,” said Mr. Brunton, 
“in a howling typhoon, I gave myself up for lost. 
There were a tremendous number of Chinese and Malays 
aboard, the steerage was crowded with them, and when 
it was realised that the ship was sinking they rushed 
the boats. The white officers and quarter-masters 
attempted to beat them back, but they were very few, 
and the natives were many. The boats were thrown 
out, and as they reached the water they bilged and sank ; 
those in them were drowned at once. We few white 
passengers had been assisting the officers — because there 
were some women aboard the liner — and we had no time 
to think of our own safety. And the, ship sank sud- 
denly — a monstrous wave rushed on and simply smashed 
her out of existence. I felt the wave fall, but I felt 
nothing more. When I came to my senses it was day- 
light, and I was entirely alone on a heaving sea, cling- 
ing to a grating. 

“ It took me some time to realise what had happened, 
but when the reality penetrated to my mind I was 
aghast. Look where I would there was nothing but 
sea and sky, and in the middle of it all myself, clinging 
to that insignificant grating. I don’t like to dwell on 
the time that followed; you boys will understand what 
my sufferings were. There was no water and no food, 
292 


The Castaway’s Story 293 

and I wished I was dead before night fell. And yet I 
clung to life desperately; perhaps I thought of you, 
although I knew that you were provided for.” 

“Ah ! ” said Syd thoughtfully, “that might account 
for the milk in the cocoanut, then.” 

“Account for what?” 

“Nothing much, I’ll tell you afterwards, dad. Go 
on, please.” 

“ I wanted to live, and so I made shift to secure my- 
self to the grating — there were a few fragments of rope 
fixed to it. You know the way of those typhoons; they 
are terrible while they last, but their life is a brief one. 
By the time night came the sea was calm. As the sky 
had been overcast all day I had not suffered as much 
from thirst as I might have done, but when the next 
day came I was aware of agonising pains. So intent 
was I on my own sufferings that I never thought to 
look about me for some considerable time, but when I 
did to my surprise I saw land in sight. There must 
have been a powerful current bearing me on steadily 
towards safety all the time, for so far as I remember we 
were nowhere near land when the Chesapeke sank. 

“But the current failed after a while. The land 
seemed to get no nearer, so I tried to propel the grat- 
ing along, but that was useless, and at last, in 
desperation, I cast myself loose from its support and 
commenced to swim. You’ll remember old days in 
the river, Syd? Your father didn’t use to be such 
a bad swimmer as all that.” 

“Finest swimmer ever I knew,” said Syd stoutly. 
“You taught me.” 

“Well, it was the biggest swim I’d ever made, be- 
cause I was weak with hunger and thirst. I thought 
that I should have to give up the task a hundred times, 


294 


Sons of the Sea 

but always, when my strength seemed on the point of 
giving out, I remembered that the land meant life and 
fought on. And after a struggle that I often dream 
about nowadays, I reached this island — the end of that 
reef there, to be precise. I had hardly sufficient strength 
to drag myself up out of the water, but somehow I 
contrived to do it. Perhaps it was the touch of the 
land that brought strength back, perhaps the thought 
that I was in safety for the time. Anyhow, after a 
while I pulled myself together, scrambled along the 
reef, saw something sticking out of the water — you can 
see it now — and wondered what it might be. But I had 
other things to think of ; I wanted food and water. I 
found them both, plantains in profusion and a stream — 
you can hear it gurgling now.” He lifted his hand, 
and the musical ripple of water was plainly to be 
heard. 

“For a week I lived what was practically the life of 
an animal, eating, drinking and sleeping, until my 
strength came back full-forced, and then I set about 
exploring my new home. I had thought of savages, 
of course, but I had seen none, and I have never seen 
any during all the time I have been here.” 

“Jody good thing for you you didn’t,” put in Syd. 
“You weren’t armed.” And as he spoke his eyes 
rested on the steel-tipped lance that his father had 
carried the previous day. 

“Ah, you’re looking at my spear. I must tell you 
how I came by it. But that is part of the story. Well, 
I landed on this island, and my first thought when I 
was properly rested and fit again was one of thankful- 
ness. Then I lost heart; it was the loneliness and the 
immensity of that loneliness. I was the sole living 
thing in sight, and — boys, it was terrible, terrible ! ” 


The Castaway’s Story 295 

His listeners nodded solemnly; they had come to 
understand something of loneliness. 

“Still, I wasn’t going to play the coward; I was 
alive, and in time I was able to be thankful for that 
mere fact. The worst of it was there was no work I 
could do to occupy my mind, and I became afraid of 
going mad. You see, the island was so full of vege- 
tation that I had only to reach out my hand to secure 
enough to eat; I found this excellent cave the day I 
landed, and besides, I had no tools of any kind with 
which to work had there been any need for exertion. 
And then, just in time to save my reason, I decided to 
investigate the meaning of those stumps stuck up 
through the water there. They were the masts of a 
ship of sorts, even I could tell that, and one day I 
swam out towards them. The water was marvellously 
clear; looking down through the pellucid depths I made 
out the outline of a ship’s deck. It seemed so near 
that, thinking of my Robinson Crusoe, I dived down- 
wards. You remember how we used to practise diving, 
Syd ? ” 

“Rather; there never was such a diver as you, 
dad.’’ 

“ It was a ship, and so far as I could tell a very old 
one. Of course, it is covered in places with the coral 
growth, and some parts are altogether inaccessible, but 
during my first dive I managed to bring up a fragment 
of steel that might have been an old sword-blade. That 
is the lance, with which I have slaughtered more pigs 
than I can remember. I used it at first as a knife, 
though, and hacked out some pegs and ultimately 
shelves from the fallen trees about. With these I 
furnished this cave. 

“I kept a fire burning constantly, not an easy 


296 Sons of the Sea 

matter, but it seemed to me that my life depended on 
it. I had picked up a trick from a native during one 
of my journeys before you were born, Syd, never think- 
ing I should need it. By rubbing two pieces of wood 
together I got fire, and once having got it I took care 
that it should not die out. There was an abundance of 
wood on the island — this place is fully two miles long 
and a mile wide — and the question of firewood afforded 
me no trouble. You see, I realised that my only hope 
of salvation was to signal a passing ship. That was 
why I paid such strict attention to the fire. 

“ It took me a year to realise that ships did not pass 
this way.” Mr. Brunton’s voice told something of the 
hopelessness of that weary waiting, of the unending 
suspense, aye, and of the final despair. 

“I don’t know where the island is, but it seems to 
be completely out of the track of shipping, even the 
trading schooners have never visited it in my time; 
perhaps they thought it wasn’t worth while. But for a 
year I hoped that each day would see the end of my 
imprisonment, and no end showed in sight. 

‘‘I hardly know how I lived. Occasionally I dived 
down to the wreck, and on these occasions brought up 
various articles — that kettle was one. It does not look 
it now, but it is made of silver; I think it must have 
been some sort of a religious vessel in its day. It 
served nobly to cook my food, for long before I dis- 
covered it I found out that there were pigs on the 
island. I didn’t trouble with them, having no means 
of cooking their flesh; but when I obtained that vessel 
I began to revolt from a continued fruit diet, and started 
to catch the porkers. It wasn’t easy work. You must 
remember, boys, that I had never been accustomed to do 
things for myself, and during those long, useless days 


The Castaway’s Story 297 

I made a resolution that you, Syd, should be taught 
how to fend for yourself in the event of emergency, if 
ever I was spared to return. I did not think then that 
you would have decided on the sea as a calling. But 
I think that it is the duty of every father to teach his 
son, or have him taught, the use of his hands, how to 
perform such simple tasks as are necessary when he is 
thrown on his own resources.” 

“Hear, hear,” shouted Syd and Roy together. 

“Well, I persevered with the pigs until one day I 
caught one. I watched their tracks, and fitted a tree- 
trunk so that it would fall when a pig touched a stick ; 
when I heard outrageous cries I went to visit my trap 
and found my victim, his back was broken. So I killed 
him, and tasted meat for the first time for a year almost. 
It was very good.” 

“Much about like fruit was to me after nothing but 
salt junk,” said Roy, with a grimace. “I thought the 
horrible stuff would choke me.” 

“After that I hunted the porkers as a matter of 
course. I had to do something to help on the awful 
waiting, and in addition to exploring the island I 
secured a quantity of other fruits. I thought of rigging 
up a flagstaff, but I had nothing to make a flag of — 
nothing. I had no clothes — these sorry rags I’m wear- 
ing now are the clothes I was cast up in. In the wet 
season I discarded them altogether and fastened leaves 
together, but they’re pretty nearly done now. 

“After eighteen months had passed — I kept a tally 
of the days — I realised that unless I found something 
to occupy my thoughts I should go mad. I had ex- 
plored every inch of the island and found nothing out 
of the ordinary — no mysterious footprints to show that 
the place had once been inhabited even. There was 


298 Sons of the Sea 

absolutely nothing to do but eat, walk and sleep — yes, 
and swim. 

“And then I decided to explore the sea, as I had 
finished with the land ; I contrived to make a rough raft 
from fallen tree trunks, lashing them together with 
palm fibre, and made a practice of taking the raft out 
to the masts there every day. Each day I spent a lot 
of time beneath the surface, until I got so that I could 
remain below for almost five minutes at a stretch. It 
was all a matter of practice. And after a year of this 
kind of thing I had made several discoveries. That was 
one.” He nodded to a corner of the cave, where stood 
many small boxes, piled one on top of another. 

“Those are chests of gold,” he said carelessly. 
“Each one contains something like a thousand doub- 
loons, and there are forty of them. There are more 
down in the ship’s hold still. Perhaps, when time 
begins to hang heavily on our hands, we might get 
them up. I don’t know why I took the trouble, except 
that it gave some occupation to my mind. The gold 
was no use to me, a case of books or some scientific 
instruments would have been worth a thousand times 
that wealth. But at the back of my mind was the 
thought that some day I might be seen and rescued ; and 
then, too, going down there to the ship became a habit, 
just as keeping the fire lit had become a habit. And so 
the time went on — very slowly, boys, very slowly. 
When I was young like you I used to think that life 
could hold no greater pleasure than to be cast away on 
a desert island. But I would give those forty thousand 
doubloons for a printed book.” 

“Funny how one’s ideas do change,” remarked Syd, 
as his father grew thoughtful. “I used to imagine that 
to be aboard a derelict or on a raft was just about every- 


The Castaway’s Story 299 

thing worth while. I don’t now, though — thank you.” 
He wriggled his shoulders in retrospection. 

“And haven’t you seen so much as a single ship, 
Mr. Brunton, all the time you’ve been here?” asked 
Roy. Syd’s father shook his head. 

“No, not really; although once I saw what I took 
to be a ship. That is now three months ago, and a 
gale was blowing; it was during the hurricane season. 
She was driving away before the storm, under short 
canvas; she would have no eyes for this islet and a 
curl of smoke. 

“And there you have my story, boys, three years 
of loneliness. Broken at last, thank God ! broken at 
last. And yet, when I saw you first, I took you to be 
enemies. I gave you a hostile reception ! ” 

“Well, what we’ve to do now is to get something 
settled,” said Syd. “One thing, we needn’t go without 
a flag any longer, unless our mast’s been washed away. 
There’s part of the sail still left, and that will blow out 
finely in a breeze. I vote we take a walk round that 
way and recover it.” 

It was a sound idea, and they set off. They found 
the raft still high and dry on the beach, and nothing 
had been removed from it. They therefore took away 
the sail and such few trifles as were worth while and 
returned with them to Mr. Brunton’s camp. Before 
sunset that night the raft’s sail was tied to the top of a 
tree, the crown of which Syd had demolished with the 
axe, and the improvised flag floated proudly in the 
breeze. 

Two or three days passed without anything of 
moment occurring. There was very much to talk about, 
for Syd had to give every detail of his history from the 
day his father left England; and Mr. Brunton seemed 


300 Sons of the Sea 

as though he would never tire of the sound of his son s 
voice. He questioned Syd closely, and on one occasion 
Mr. Carey was mentioned. 

“Yes, you said something about ‘ that accounted for 
the milk in the coco-nut,’ ” said Mr. Brunton. “What 
did you mean precisely, Syd ? ” 

“Let’s see, that was when you said you’d left my 
future provided for. Oh, I remember, yes, it was about 
Forbes. He tried to kill me several times, and when 
he was dying he confessed that Father Carey had put 
him up to it.” 

Mr. Brunton’s face darkened slightly. 

“Why should Carey want to get rid of you? ” he 
asked. “I trusted that man and his wife to the hilt. 
Syd, if ever we get back to England this matter will 
require some looking into. If Carey had behaved 
honourably to you there would have been no need to 
get rid of you. I must think this out.” 

But he mentioned no conclusion to the boys, and the 
matter was forgotten in good time, for there were other 
things to occupy attention. Syd had to be shown the 
mysteries of the ship beneath the water ; in company 
with his father he dived down to the depths and mar- 
velled at the strange craft. Although much of it was 
overgrown with coral, parts were accessible, but beyond 
the woodwork and some portions of metal, the ship was 
stripped bare. Either the sea had rotted her fittings 
away or the animal life below the surface had eaten 
them — there was nothing to tell her history. To all 
intents and purposes she was merely a coral rock, with 
apertures here and there that led into her hold. 

“ I was searching for metal when I happened to find 
these cases,” said Mr. Brunton. “I tell you, Syd, 1 
was disappointed when I opened the first one and found 


The Castaway’s Story 3 01 

it contained only gold. Gold is a good thing in its 
own place, but it does not make for happiness. How- 
ever, your arrival here has given me fresh hope, and 
we might as well get up the rest of the cases.” 

They went below the next day, and Syd’s father 
showed the lad how he had worked. By means of a 
heavy stone he had sunk himself to the ship, bearing 
with him a rope he had constructed of palm fibre. He 
had groped a way into the strong-room of the wreck, 
attached the rope to a case, and then returned to the 
surface. After that, resting on his raft, he had hauled 
his salvage to the surface, transported it ashore and 
stowed it in the cave. 

Syd’s imagination was fired by the showing, and he 
soon became a very eager treasure-hunter. During the 
next few days father and son salved all that remained 
of the gold, another fifteen cases in all, making a total 
of fifty-five. After that there was nothing more to be 
done, there was nothing of any worth remaining in the 
ship. 

“I think she must have been a Spaniard, that’s the 
only way I can account for her,” said Mr. Brunton one 
day, when they discussed the reason for her presence 
there. “Probably she was abandoned in a storm and 
became a derelict — she may have drifted here hundreds 
of years ago. If we were properly equipped with 
diving gear we might contrive to discover her secret, 
but otherwise she must remain a mystery.” 

And the boys had no other solution to offer. The 
ship was there — how come they could not tell. 

Weeks trailed by, but not as monotonously now as 
before, for they found much to do. At times they 
hunted the wild pigs which flourished in the island; 
they roamed at large through the tangled undergrowth 


302 Sons of the Sea 

which filled the centre of the island; they walked round 
it, they walked across it, they even fashioned rude 
articles of furniture from the timber, which was very 
plentiful. 

“ It might be that we shall have to spend the rest of 
our lives here,” said Mr. Brunton. “And unless we 
want to grow thoroughly weary of each other’s society 
the more we do the better.” 

To the boys there was as yet no irksomeness in the 
situation, and as the copious supplies of fruit purged 
Roy’s system of scurvy, he grew big and strong again, 
whilst Syd, whose system had remained sound, swelled 
visibly, so much so that his father more than once 
watched him with amazement. 

“I left you a boy,” he said, “I find you a man.” 
And Syd laughed lightly, well pleased nevertheless. 

It was Syd who first proposed an attempt to leave 
the island. He had been hewing timber with that in- 
valuable axe, when suddenly he paused and looked 
carefully at a great tree which grew within two hundred 
yards of the cave. 

“Make a topping canoe,” he said. “I vote we try 
our luck. With the axe and fire we ought to be able to 
fashion something that would float.” 

“Try it, boys,” said Mr. Brunton, knowing that 
anything was better than idleness, and forthwith Syd 
laid his axe to the roots of the tree. It took them two 
days to fell it, working hard all the time, and when 
felled they were confronted with the problem of trans- 
porting the vast trunk to the water’s edge, but they 
contrived, by means of rollers hewn from smaller trees, 
to thrust it ultimately — a week’s work it was — to the 
beach. Then they set to work. Progress was slow 
but sure. With axe and fire they shaped the trunk 


The Castaway’s Story 303 

into something resembling a boat, and hollowed it out. 
It was a cranky craft at the best, and Syd surveyed it 
dubiously on many an occasion, until his father came 
to the rescue with a suggestion that an outrigger should 
be fitted after the fashion of Cingalese catamarans. 

“It means leaving the gold behind,” said Roy, as 
the task proceeded. “We might manage to carry our- 
selves and some grub, but that will be all.” 

“If we save our lives, that will be something,” said 
Mr. Brunton. “So far as I am concerned the gold is 
worthless.” And for another week they laboured at the 
big canoe. 

They fashioned rough lockers in bow and stern to 
hold supplies of food, and when Syd and his father were 
at work with the axe, Roy betook himself into the 
interior of the island, armed with the spear, and many 
hogs fell to his prowess. To recount the lads’ adven- 
tures in detail would require the scope of another book, 
but by the time the canoe was ready for sea Roy had a 
mighty stock of salted provisions. He had scooped salt 
by the hundredweight from the coral rocks of the reef, 
there had been no difficulty on that head. He had also 
collected fruit and boiled it, extracting all the juice and 
sealing up the results in gourds, which grew profusely 
on the island. 

“You don’t catch me going down with scurvy 
again,” he said in explanation. “Salt pig might keep 
a man alive, but this will keep him fit. For me the 
juicy fruits, my son ; you get on with your precious 
canoe.” 

And then there came the night when, after toiling 
late, the canoe was pronounced complete. It lay there 
on the beach, above high-water mark, cumbersome, 
roughly fashioned, but able to float ; able, perhaps, with 


304 


Sons of the Sea 

luck, to bear them to another island, where ships might 
be sighted. It was a fighting chance at the best, but 
none of the three had any desire to finish his existence 
on an island two miles by one. 

“We’ll start to-morrow,” said Mr. Brunton, throw- 
ing himself down wearily in the cave after the 
evening meal had been eaten. “At daylight we’ll get 
the stores aboard, and after that we’ll trust ourselves 
to the sea.” 

The boys slept like logs through the early hours of 
the night, but at an hour before the first streak of dawn 
showed in the sky Syd Brunton found himself wide 
awake, and though he tried his hardest he could not 
sleep again. Silently, not desiring to rouse his com- 
panions, he stole from the cave and stood in the clear 
air outside. The fire had burnt down to a glowing 
mass of embers; he stood beside it for a moment, then, 
obeying an impulse he could never afterwards under- 
stand, he piled wood on it recklessly. In a few minutes 
flames shot up into the air, illuminating the surrounding 
beach and the face of the cliff ; Syd piled on still more 
fuel. What need for economy when an hour or two 
would witness their departure? 

He was on the point of stripping off his ragged 
garments for the purpose of taking a plunge into the 
sea, when another impulse came to him. 

“Might as well take a last look round the place,” 
he said. “Shan’t have much time when daylight comes. 
Good old island, when all’s said and done. Yes, I’ll 
take a walk up to the top of the cliff.” 

It was still dark when he reached the summit of the 
small precipice, but there was just a suggestion of 
coming day in a line of white down in the east. Syd 
turned his eyes towards that spot, and turning them 


The Castaway’s Story 3°5 

almost fell his length. For there came to his ears the 
sharp report of a gun. 

A gun ! There was not a firearm of any description 
on the island, unless — unless someone had landed dur- 
ing the night. But this sound was muffled and distant; 
only a big gun could have created such a detonation. 
He waited, holding his breath, and the sound was 
repeated. Then he started off to communicate the news 
to his companions. They must learn that something 
sensational had happened; they must know that relief 
was at hand. Unless 

Syd paused. Savages nowadays were armed with 
guns; might it not be that the reports heralded the 
approach of hostile canoes ? And there below the great 
fire blazed luridly. He must extinguish it — during 
three years his father had never seen a ship, and savages 
were far more likely than a vessel. 

And as he hesitated, uncertain what next to do, the 
black pall of night swept away before the first flush of 
dawn. To show a darkling sea, lying placidly beneath 
a rosy sky, to show the waving palms on the island’s 
top, to show — Syd caught his breath and then gave 
vent to a strange croaking cry — to show a steamer in 
the offing; yes, a steamer, he could see the plumes of 
smoke that arose from her funnels. 

How he got down the cliff he could never tell, he 
thought afterwards that he must have fallen down. At 
the entrance of the cave he met his father, whom he 
seized by the arm. 

“Look there,” he said. “We’re saved.” 

An hour later a second-class cruiser dropped her 
anchor with a roar inside the reef. Almost before her 
mudhook scattered the still waters a white pinnace 
flashed away from her ; standing in the stern-sheets was 
u 


3°6 Sons of the Sea 

a smart naval lieutenant. But the boys hardly had eyes 
for him. They were watching the cruiser’s flagstaff, 
for to its top there had been hoisted the white ensign 
of Britain. 

“Glad to find you safe, sir,” said the lieutenant, 
springing ashore and holding out his hand to Mr. 
Brunton. “The sailing ship Thomas Billington re- 
ported seeing smoke on an island, but was unable to 
give the precise position. We were ordered to cruise in 
search of possible castaways, and — well, here we are. 
We saw your fire, otherwise we should have passed you 
in the night, I’m afraid, as this island’s position is 
marked down wrong on the charts.” 

Here, to all intents and purposes, the story ends. 
The three castaways did not remain long aboard their 
island after the arrival of the warship. Captain Bronte, 
of the Pleiades, allowed time for his men to collect a 
certain quantity of fruit, filled up his fresh-water tanks, 
and took aboard the fifty-five cases of doubloons. He 
was rowed over the position of the wreck in company 
with Mr. Brunton, who had found no difficulty in 
securing decent attire at last, and whose first visit had 
been to the ship’s barber; and the two gazed down into 
the depths together. 

“I suppose the Government will claim the gold,” 
said Mr. Brunton. The naval officer looked at him 
squarely. 

“You tell me you dived for it without apparatus? 
Very well, it’s yours, no one has a better right to it. 
Some day I might pay a visit down here myself and 
bring proper divers, but meantime I suppose you’ll be 
only too glad to get away ? ” 

“Yes, I want to get away,” said Mr. Brunton. “So 
would you if you’d been here for over three years.” 


The Castaway’s Story 307 

Captain Bronte whistled, and within an hour the 
Pleiades steamed slowly out of the natural harbour 
towards the west. 

“Pleasant Island, it’s marked on the chart,” said Mr. 
Brunton to the boys, who stood aft watching the shores 
recede. “Between the Solomons and the Marshalls — 
hundreds of miles from anywhere. Pleasant Island; I 
felt inclined to rechristen it when I heard, but after 
all, now that it’s over, it wasn’t such a bad island 
when all’s said and done.” 

The Pleiades made a swift passage to Ilo-Ilo, where 
the castaways were landed. Mr. Brunton was made 
much of, for he was the sole survivor of the Chesapeke ; 
and that half-forgotten story was resurrected by the 
American journalists, so that the survivor became some- 
thing of a hero, as did the two boys who had shared 
the latter part of his captivity. At Ilo-Ilo Mr. Brunton 
found it a comparatively easy matter to dispose of the 
doubloons, which resulted in a handsome fortune for 
their possessor. Passages home were purchased, and 
on a day that was bright with promise the Stornoway 
steamed out of harbour bound for ’Frisco. A parcel of 
newspapers came aboard as she was heaving up anchor, 
and one of these fell into Syd’s hands. Opening it he 
read of the Cape Horn's safe arrival in England. 

“ Well, so long as the old hooker’s safe nothing else 
matters much,” he said to Roy. “Everything’s ending 
happily, like a story.” 

“You wait a bit; there’s still old Father Carey to 
settle with,” said Roy grimly. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

A Short One and the Last 

“I’m not a vengeful man,” said Mr. Brunton, as the 
train drew into the station. “But I believe in a fair 
settlement. So we will see Mr. Carey and his wife as 
a beginning.” 

“Don’t rub it in too hard,” said Syd, who, bronzed 
and big, seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. 
“After all, if it hadn’t been for him we should never 
have found you, and never have done what we have 
done.” 

“But still, the man has rendered himself liable to 
penalties,” said his father. “I left him in charge of a 
sum of money on your behalf, and he has still to give 
an account of it. I shall have the satisfaction of giving 
him a caning when I meet him, and that time is not 
far distant now, thank goodness.” From the way he 
gripped his stick it would appear he meant business, 
and Syd, remembering much harsh treatment, felt in- 
clined to rub his hands in anticipation. 

But they counted their chickens before they were 
hatched. When they drove to Summerford, itching 
w r ith excitement, they found the birds were flown. Mr. 
Carey and his estimable spouse had disappeared, and 
none knew whither they had gone. All that anyone 
did know was that they had left a vast amount of debts 
behind them and stolen away in the night like thieves. 

308 


Home 309 

“Perhaps, after all, it is the best solution to the 
problem,” said Mr. Brunton to Dr. Halliday, when the 
news was known. “When all is said and done, the 
money he embezzled does not represent a tenth of what 
we have brought home.” 

And the boys agreed with him, for now that they 
were at home at last they had no time for aught but 
happiness. Syd and his father stayed on with the 
Hallidays until Mr. Brunton discovered a house to his 
liking, and on the evening after their arrival at Summer- 
ford a consultation was held in Dr. Halliday’s study. 

“Well, boys, you’ve tried the sea, and you’ve had a 
good many experiences,” said the parents. “What’s 
the verdict ? ” 

The boys looked at each other and remembered the 
days that had been. They remembered how hardship 
and suffering had drawn them into a closer friendship 
than had ever before existed between them. 

“If you wish to go in for law, Syd, there’s no 
obstacle,” said his father. 

“And if you care to try medicine — well, the way 
will be made clear,” said Dr. Halliday to his son. 

“We’re going back to sea,” said both boys at once; 
“and in the Cape Horn, too — good old hooker.” 

The parents nodded to each other, and if they felt 
a pang of sorrow, they hid it well. 

“That’s the worst — or the best — of the sea,” pro- 
nounced Mr. Brunton. “She won’t let a man rest 
ashore after he has once known her moods. Even I 
expect to grow restless after a while, Halliday — I, who 
once thought I never wished to see salt water again.” 

The Cape Horn had not yet sailed. Harry Longton 
and Sammy Longstaffe were still in the village. To 
Sammy Mr. Brunton could not show enough gratitude, 


3io 


Sons of the Sea 

for undoubtedly the lad had been instrumental in foil- 
ing Carey’s dastardly plans; but for his intervention 
that night in the top, Syd must assuredly have been 
killed — and this story would never have been written. 

“Say the word,” said Mr. Brunton to Sammy; “say 
the word, and you can go back aboard the Cape Horn 
as a cadet.” 

But Sammy shook his head. 

“Bless you, sir, I shouldn’t know what to do with 
myself if I did,” he replied; “besides, Harry would 
feel lonely without me on the fo’c’sle. No, sir; I’ll 
stick before the mast for a while, anyway — perhaps I 
might work up later and take my ticket; but that’s a 
long way off.” 

“Have it your own way, lad; but when you want 
any help, come to me, and you won’t find it denied.” 

A fortnight later the Cape Horn left Poolhaven 
again. The reunion between Syd and Roy and their 
old shipmates was a wonderful one; but that does not 
enter into the story. But it may be that some day 
another book will be written, telling of the further 
adventures of Syd Brunton and Roy Halliday; and of 
Raymond, passed as second mate now; and Mr. 
Seymour, chief officer of the Cape Horn . But the bell 
has struck and the watches are piped down. Time to 
haul in the slack and belay. 


Printed by Cassbll & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvace, London, E.C. 


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